


Remus Lupin and the Prisoner of Azkaban

by Deriliarch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Chronic Illness, Chronically ill Remus Lupin, Depression, Gen, In which Remus is very very hard on himself, One day I'll be able to write a better summary, POV Remus Lupin, Remus Lupin Needs a Hug, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-03-02 02:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 79,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13308030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deriliarch/pseuds/Deriliarch
Summary: The third year at Hogwarts, still filled with the same betrayal, the same fugitive, the same dementors but this time, we see it through the eyes of a certain werewolf Professor.





	1. Tea and Entanglement

Remus J. Lupin was neatly folding the slacks of a--sadly-- no longer needed clerk uniform for a local Muggle supermarket when there was a knock on the door. He straightened, warily, and eyed the door. Landlord, confused vagrant, wrong address? Nobody visited him--there was nobody left _to_ visit him. Perhaps they would go away.

Again, a knock. Apparently not. He pressed a hand to his jacket pocket where his wand was stowed away for reassurance as he opened the door--and choked on his greeting. Albus Dumbledore was standing in the dingy hallway of his flat, beaming down at him over his crooked nose. “Professor!” he gasped, feeling as if just him standing there in his emerald robes and hat had just stunned all the air out of his chest. Just the irrationality of a wizard of his stature coexisting with the scent of burnt bacon from down the hall was mind-boggling.

“Hello, Remus,” he said, still smiling at him and Remus found his footing, precarious though it was, and quickly invited him inside. He was suddenly intensely aware of the vague musty smell that had permeated this place since before his occupation, the water stains on the ceiling, the peeling wallpaper and shoddy windows. The ground down carpet with an almost offensively indeterminable color that could range anywhere from puce to pea green, depending on the lighting and humidity. Even so, he adamantly stifled the urge to apologize or explain such accommodations. He wouldn’t want to put the onus of social niceties on Dumbledore to try to scrounge up redeeming features.

As graciously as he could, he gestured to the foot of his tidy, if threadbare, bed. “Er, do have a seat, Headmaster. I’m afraid it’s the only one I’ve--unless you would rather I draw one up,” his hand clamped upon his wand pocket as he was suddenly seized by the embarrassingly startling remembrance that he was a _wizard_ , for God’s sake, and could _do_ things like that. Too much time scraping by in the Muggle world had caused his undercover persona to become a little too comfortable. It no longer seemed second nature to just reach for a wand.

But Dumbledore had already sat himself down and proceeded to cross his legs, hands woven together around his knee and look quite comfortable. “This is lovely, thank you.”

Remus made as if to tidy, but most of his meager possessions were already stowed away in the suitcase at the foot of his bed. Using this homey momentum, he launched himself at the restroom announcing, “I’ll put on some tea.”

He used this familiar chore to collect his whirling and clamoring mind. Albus Dumbledore? Here? Why? Did this mean something was wrong? Had he done something? He was 11 again, standing in the Headmaster’s grand office, trembling head to toe as he spoke with him before his first term. Terrified; no context; certain he was somehow in trouble already. Why on earth would the Professor want to talk to him, of all people?

He tapped the electric kettle with his wand and steam gouted from the opening--couldn’t just have a teapot, as he had no stove and didn’t want to rouse Muggle suspicions. Remus raked through his recent memory of anything happening in the Daily Prophet, when he found them abandoned in his limited wizarding haunts he favored nearby. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing about werewolves, certainly nothing about him. _Well_ , he thought irritably at himself, _you’re definitely not going to figure it out panicking in the washroom when he’s obviously come to talk._ He sheepishly emerged with two  chipped mugs and presented one to Dumbledore. “I only have sugar, at the moment, sorry. Would you like…?”

“2 would be splendid, thank you.” Dumbledore turned his piercing, smiling eyes on him as he wrapped his long fingers around the thrift store cup and blew gently.

When Remus was done fussing, he set his suitcase rightside up and sat astride it, too uncomfortable to stand when Dumbledore was sitting. He was trying to pick apart the most polite way of saying ‘what the hell are you _doing_ here, sir?’ when, thankfully, the older wizard stopped sipping and spoke. “I suppose you’re wondering why I came to call today?”

“Er, yessir.” Remus said, slightly sheepish. “Not that I don’t appreciate your company.”

“I come under...difficult circumstances, I’m afraid.” He swirled the cup pensively in his hand, the deep emerald of his sleeve shifting like water.

Remus tried to ignore the cold shaking that was trying to take root in his stomach. “Ah?” he tried, lightly.

“This hasn’t been made public yet, only myself, the guards, and the Minister know about it as of today. It is not an easy thing to say or hear, and I’m sorry for what this will mean for you.  Sirius Black escaped from prison yesterday.”

The Headmaster continued. Remus watched his lips in numb fascination, but nothing came through but a steady, growing ringing. Dumbledore had come that day, too. 12 years ago. That Halloween. The Order had been together for the news of the next day. Sirius. Peter.

He had been laughing, they said. As they took him away. After he had betrayed his heart. After he had destroyed everything--

This dusty corner of unmentionable thoughts was rattling and it spread, trespassing through his limbs and he shook with the unbearableness of it. Some nameless emotion was pulsing down to his fingertips with every heartbeat, virulent. Choking. He was slipping, too close to the feeling of his Change to bear as some sort of blank emptiness was lapping at his thoughts, bringing only the word--

“How.”

Dumbledore took a breath in through is nose and gazed deeply into his mug. “At the moment, that is unclear. None of the Dementors have any ideas; merely that one moment he was there and another, he simply wasn’t. It’s...unprecedented, to say the least. I may say what I will about them, but the Dementors are very good at their job. It eludes _me_ how he could have eluded _them_.” He raised his eyes, blue, sad, and very old. “Are you alright?” he asked gently.

He couldn’t make sense of this feeling. Was it fear? Rage? Hatred? Shock? “I’m…” It felt like shock. Maybe he was in shock. “Why?” His throat was so dry. He looked to his hands for his teacup but it had since rolled from his unfeeling grasp. His knuckles were white, his fingertips balled up into his palms.

“Hmm?”

“Why...tell me?”

He studied Remus for a moment, then said, lightly. “I thought if anyone had a right to know what Sirius was doing, it would be you.”

 _Control_ , he thought desperately, _control_. He stood abruptly from the suitcase, not giving his knees the option to refuse and automatically picked up his cup. Bearing it back into the washroom, he counted his breathing. This box of untouched memories was trying desperately to resurface but he refused, he would not think of the wreckage of their house; the empty crib, the shattered door. He would not think of the pictures of that torn up street, with pipes streaming water out over outstretched limbs flung awkwardly like forgotten dolls--the blood--of how well Remus knew the sound of his uproarious laughter--

The mug shattered in the sink.

Stop.

Now.

 _Evanesco_ . “Evanesco.” The shards vanished away. _Away, away_ … The harsh fluorescent above his sink buzzed and gave a sputter. His own bloodless face stared at him underneath it, shadows dug deep beneath his eyes, beneath his scars. His mouth tasted like metal.

A deep shuddering breath and he turned on his heel, out the door, out to face Dumbledore again. “I apologize. This has...caught me by surprise. I don’t mean to be rude.”

“My dear boy…” Dumbledore murmured but shook his head. “I am not the bearer of completely bad news, however. I’ve come with a proposal that I feel you will find agreeable.” He twinkled at Remus from behind his beard.

Remus wished he could muster something resembling a curious smile, but he feared the result must have looked ghastly on his him because he saw sympathy flit across the Professor’s face. He felt like a pumpkin that had been scooped clean inside, hollow. “Ah?”

“You see, I find myself in need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, seeing how the last few have, er...retired. I was wondering how you would feel about filling that role?”

Mentally, if felt as if the first news had hit him had been a train and this was it barrelling back over him the other way. Hogwarts? Go back to Hogwarts? A professor? Him? Hogwarts? “You mean...teach? At Hogwarts?”

“Unless I have grievously misunderstood the location of my tenure, yes, at Hogwarts.”

“I...I don’t...know what to say.”

“May I humbly suggest, ‘yes’?”

“Then...yes. Yes.”


	2. Diagon Alley, Memory Lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus finds magic in his life again.

It had taken a while--hours before he was able to wrestle his shaking, nauseating dread back into its chains, but excitement had taken its first tentative wing-beats against his heart. Glee, even. He had been given a fairly substantial stipend with which to supply his class, which he carefully ordered down next to his growing list of creatures to explore and spells to teach. He was going to need supplies. He was going to need books for research.

 

He was going to be a Professor.

  
Whenever this thought ambled amiably across his mind, the empty feeling from the news about Sirius was lit with a warm glow deep in his chest. It was pride and fear and anticipation and joy all muddled up together. He, Remus John Lupin, was going to help people. He was going to have a job and a home. He was going to have a purpose. A purpose that Albus Dumbledore obviously thought he was capable of taking on, which made him swell a little more. After the conversation had sunken in, Remus had gone to the nearest craft store and bought gold lettering. He spent half an hour applying it painstakingly to his suitcase, propped on the windowsill with the best lighting and checking with his wand to make sure it was straight, standing in the sun.

  
Stretching his back and his wrists, he attempted to keep from smiling like some sort of child at the holidays as he surveyed his work. Professor R. J. Lupin. He had used his own money, and had had to make the decision between the letters for his full first name or his title, but the shining gold had seemed too much like a promise to let himself forget. So he had chosen Professor, almost as if the spelling of it was like a charm, to make it absolutely and immutably true. Professor.

  
He was starting to get the wrenching twinges in his gut, the ache in his bones that signaled the growing of the moon, but even that did little to dim this light that had been ignited in his chest. Hogwarts would come after; there was now something to look forward to. Unfortunately, it made it hard to eat--food started smelling wrong and tasting worse. There had been dark hints in his research long ago that raw meat might help but he stoutly refused; he was not an animal. They had told him. He was not an animal. So, with optimism slightly bolstered, he got himself some slightly greasy take-out, managed to force it down and set about writing letters, requesting recommendations for his curriculum. It was an agreeable way to spend the afternoon, sitting on the floor with his knees propped up, the only sounds were the low murmuring of a television somewhere, the gurgle-clunk of the pipes, and the scratching of his quill. Luckily for him, most of the other tenants were out working or doing whatever else they might do, so it was quiet. He migrated across the room to follow the splotch of sun let in his windows, scooting every few minutes to stay in it’s light.

  
Until his stomach gave a violent lurch that had him scattering parchment and dashing for the bathroom, where he lost his wrestling match with lunch. It was significantly worse the second time around. He rinsed his mouth, washed his face. Methodically, he collected every page with slightly trembling hands and set back to work, resolute. This needed to be done sooner rather than later, and he would have to write the curriculum while he was convalescing after this month’s Change, for soon, money would be too tight to even get take out, let alone keep his flat. The job hunt needed to be started soon, after he had been sacked from his last one as a late night grocery store clerk. There had been several bad months in a row where he couldn’t make it to work for at least 3 days after the full moon and after the 2nd time, they had just gotten fed up and let him go. He supposed it was better than being publicly fired for showing up looking like he was in a secret fight club after his Changes, like the last job before this.

  
After the 5th letter, his hand was cramping and the bone-deep ache was getting worse, with a rising restlessness he was all too well acquainted with. Sighing defeat, he rose, rolled his neck and dressed for bed.

  
The next day, he finished, gathered, folded and sealed all the letters--Muggle paper and envelopes as parchment and wax seals were out of his budget at the moment. He tucked them neatly into his inner cloak pocket and set to donning the robes he’d set out to air soon after Dumbledore had left. It had been a long time since he had had to move seamlessly through a Wizarding space and when he straightened his cuffs and set all his clasps to rights, he felt a little taller. A little less invisible. The comforting weight at his wrists, down his back, swinging against his legs seemed to trigger some sense memory in him as he Apparated into Diagon Alley. It was as though he was arriving as he was now along with his echoes through time; as he had been all through his school years and even before, when he had visited with his Father when he was just a lad. The cheerful chatter, the bubbling, sparkling, cracking, fizzing, furling signs and banners to catch the eye. The mournful hoots and yowling of cats from the menagerie and the wafting scent of fried meat and candied nuts wove in and out of crowd-packed streets that were a riot of robes of jewel tones and pastels. For a man who had been living alone for a little more than a decade, the clamoring cheer of it stunned him momentarily and it was all he could do to just marvel with the eyes of his childhood self. This was magic. This was belonging.

  
How many times had he walked these streets, a quarter of a group, goggling in windows and laughing too loud? How many times had they strolled as if they ruled these cobblestone streets by the right of their brash adolescence? _Not enough_ , a soft voice tolled in the back of his mind and he forcefully derailed that train of thought with a shove. He would not do this in the middle of the street.

  
Purposefully, he strode off toward the Post Office, quirking a small smile at anyone who met his eye. A small boy wove in between his legs and a harried looking short man barreled after him with a muttered apology. He saw the alley where the Marauder’s had--no, not now. A group of young foreign witches were debating loudly in another language--Romanian?--under the technicolored umbrella of Florence Fortescue’s ice cream parlor, gesturing animatedly at a map before them on the table. Roughly 5 goblins stalked past him, ignoring all else as they headed straight for the mouth of Knockturn Alley. Truly, if he felt like people watching, this was obviously the place to be. But, for today, he was armed with a budget and a purpose; the education of young people, and he refused to take that lightly.

  
He spent a good hour running errands after he had mailed the letters out, feeling strange not needing to send them off at separate times to stagger his spending. Rarely had he had this much leisure money in the past, certainly not enough to rent 8 separate first class owls to send his mail. Though, come to think of it, he had not had anything that urgent to say to anyone, lately.. Most of the day had been ordering in supplies rather than gathering them, but he had spent so much time talking, walking, and exploring, he felt as if he had been here several days already. The ache had migrated to his thigh bones and his lungs seemed unsure what shape they were going to take today--2 more days until the full moon. He would have to take it easy tomorrow or he would be unable to leave bed for a week after the Change as he no longer had the wonderful medical, magical aid of Poppy Pomfrey to patch him up quick and send him on his way.

  
Remus brightened at this thought. Luckily, he soon would. It would be wonderful to catch up with her again, once he was back-- _back_ \-- again, after the summer. Only 2 more moons, as luck would have it. With this happy thought, he allowed himself to settle in the shade of one of the loudly decorated umbrellas in front of the ice cream shop to stretch his legs out before him. A man with the most enormous mustache and pipe he had ever seen was rising from the table next to him, leaving behind a haphazard stack of the Daily Prophet, dated to only a few days ago. A movement caught his eye from the front page and the contented bliss he had managed to cultivate disappeared in a rush of cold. His stomach clenched roughly at the thought, but he needed to know...needed to see….”Ah, sir? Might I…?” he gestured to the paper.

  
The man gave an uninterested shrug. “Eh, take ‘em; they’re days old, anyhow.”

  
Remus thanked him and gathered them carefully, meticulously tapping them into place, lining up the corners and smoothing it out until he could no longer pretend he wasn’t stalling. Deep breath. He looked down and before he could stop it, a soft, strangled noise managed to escape him.

  
_My God._


	3. Bitter Pill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unwanted memories, conversations, and realizations.

It had been impossible to meet Sirius Black and not think he was handsome. It hadn’t even been so much an opinion as a fact of life that was just accepted across genders and orientations. The sky was blue, trains were loud, Sirius was good looking.

It had happened so much that whenever an adult would mention, ‘my, what a handsome child!’ in his presence, the boy would hunch himself up and pull the most horrific face possible. Which, of course had made James, Peter, and Remus shoving their fists against each other’s mouths to keep their strangled wheezing in check while the offended party would stalk away in a huff. Remus knew the exact glint in his eye when he was about to pull something petty that none of them were fast enough to prevent, the wild flounce–as James had called it– to his hair when he first emerged from his blanket den in the morning.

Sirius was not handsome now.

In the fleeting dark moments he allowed himself to slip down that nightmare-rabbithole, he had pictured, vaguely, the man he knew, sitting in prison. A darker, more twisted, malicious version, the one he had so obviously overlooked, but, essentially, who he had been. This–this was…almost unrecognizable. The hair was one thing, the jutting bones and ashen, waxen face but his eyes. Pale, luminous,  _burning_. He had seen this man in utter despair, in a towering rage, in manic laughter and never had he seen these eyes. Never had he seen this man.

That feeling was back. The unnamable one Dumbledore had brought with him. Staring into this face he knew so well and yet was so utterly foreign that it was a demolition of his very memory brought that pulsing through his limbs, that tightening in his chest. _Who ARE you_ , something within him hissed. He bore the gaze of those eyes, and that gaze bored into him. His brain seemed to be trying to factor this in, somewhere, to finish a calculation that had been missing a variable until now and before Remus could deflect, derail, it presented him with a vision.

Sirius, younger, darkly suave, his smile on his face but those eyes. Watching James and Lily. Watching baby Harry. Knowing. Smiling.  _Laughing as they took him away._

_We trusted you; our hope, our love, our future, their–our–child, all those years, all those YEARS–_

Blank-faced, he slammed his fist over the photo and the table teetered sideways and crashed to the ground, scattering pages of Prophet over the cobblestones. He couldn’t seem to move. He merely sat there, a light tremor traveling up and down his body. He was quite devoid of any recognizable feeling. Something in him was  _howling_. The Romanian witches had been startled into silence when the crack of the table had rung out and they peered at him curiously, map momentarily forgotten. After few seconds, chatter that had tapered off at the noise was resuming and the flow of time and humanity rushed like water back into the vacuum.  _No more puzzle pieces. No more Sirius. No more of this._  Bolstered by the flow, he rose, righted his table, and tossed the paper back down onto it. Face down. He left.

He was leaving Gringotts after having checked his vault–which was as barren as his Muggle account, he did not, if anything, lack consistency–when he was stopped by a voice behind him,

“Ah,  _Professor_  Lupin, if I’m correct?”

The shock of being directly addressed in public hit first, the shock of the first time being called a Professor followed close behind, and, lastly, the recognition of who it was, stopped him cold on the white steps.  _You’re going to be living in a castle full of people,_  that reproachful voice scolded as he tried to mentally right himself.  _You can’t freeze up every time someone tries to interact with you._

He was older, slightly thicker, Lucius Malfoy was, but his silver-blond hair, not-so-subtle disdain, and obvious wealth were the same as when he had been an upperclassman at school. Something in him recoiled and raised it’s hackles at the fact  _Lucius_ was the first to call him Professor. It hated the oily feeling it left him with.  _Adult, you’re an adult,_  chided one side.  _Hex the Death Eater,_  growled another that sounded suspiciously like…someone who was dead.

“Lucius… Malfoy, isn’t it?” He asked innocently, as it dredging up the name with difficulty.  _Adult_!

Lucius curled a chilly smile. Palpable hit. “Mm. So nice to see you, out and…” his glace took in Gringotts, the deflated coin sack he was holding, the state of his robes. “About.”  _Hex_!

“Yes, well. Preparations for school.” Remus refused to stuff the bag into his pocket but couldn’t help his fingers from squeezing deeper into the fabric.

“Ah yes, I had heard, as school governor, but you knew this already. So considerate of Dumbledore to think of you; you don’t have past qualifications, I’ve seen, so he must think you have exemplary character.” Another sweep of his eyes drove home the subtext ‘because what else would be going for you?’ “I do hope you’re up for the task; the last few to take that job met rather, er,  _regrettable_ departure from duty.”

“Well, if you’ll forgive me,” Remus smiled easily and tilted his head, said with his eyes ‘and I know you will’, “It wouldn’t take too much to surpass a sham author and an ineffectual Death Eater.”

Lucius’ gloved grip tightened on the snake-head of his cane and he smiled. Remus’ grip tightened further on his coin bag and he smiled. He made sure it was friendly.

“Yes, I suppose not. But what  _remarkable_ timing, it occurs to me.” Lucius broke eye contact to brush something invisible from his cloak.  _Some excess contempt dribble down?_

“Oh?” He couldn’t unclench his teeth behind his lips. Here was the wind up.

“Well,” he scoffed, “I should think it obvious. An old school friend escaped from prison; I recall how chummy you all were. Just peculiar that it is  _now_ that the Headmaster chooses to recruit you and not any previous year when hard times,” another, deliberately slow  scan of his eyes. ”Might have been as pressing as they ever were. One might wonder at his thinking. Certainly not anything to do with Black and your history, I balk to think. Gryffindor being renowned for such things as loyalty, after all.”

The drop of sudden, intense emotional vertigo combined with an already churning gut almost persuaded him to throw up on Lucius then and there on the steps. Part of him was tempted. He pulled a bright smile from somewhere and pasted it on, leaning forward. “And Slytherin’s being known for their power and cunning. Not everyone fulfills every aspect of their House, being held to such high standards, we must forgive each other our little failings.” That he kept his tone light and sympathetic was a wonder to him as he caroled a farewell and briskly, blindly, took the rest of the stairs.

He must have knocked shoulders with at least 3 people, rushing as he was through the crowd without any plan. It hadn’t even felt like a small victory; just the beginnings of some sort of ulcer, boiling in his stomach. He ended up in some Knockturn Alley backstreet, stomach trying to heave, but he had had no breakfast. His vertebrae felt as though they were literally crawling and he had to lean against the damp, mildewed wall to catch his breath.  _Control. CONTROL._ The symptoms worsened with stress.

But his mind maelstrom refused to quiet. How could it? When Dumbledore was only hiring him to have control over his whereabouts because of Sirius?


	4. Moonlighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hasn't let himself remember them in a long, long time.

It had taken a few days, but once he had woken up the morning before the full moon, he knew what course of action he would take. None. He was staying at Hogwarts. Firstly, how many jobs would he be able to have where his employer knew of his dangerous handicap and still let him work there? Secondly…the logic was sound. Hurtful. Devastating, frankly. But sound. Dumbledore was a pragmatic as well as kind, and while his primary motivation–Remus hoped against hope–might be to give Remus the job because he thought he could do it and do it well, what Lucius had said….

Could he truly blame anyone for taking no chances? They had all been inseparable. The first and, if he was being honest, only friends that Remus had ever made. With only 2 out of the 5 left, only they knew the full history and scope of their connection. With the moon sending an ache through his marrow at a dull pound, his thoughts went unbidden to the night before the full moon they had told him. Their plan.

 _“We really wish we could do something,”_  James had grinned, hands clasped behind his back, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet as if he could barely contain himself.

 _“Yeah, it just burns us up that you have to do this every month. All alone. By yourself.”_ Sirius had agreed, snickering.

 _“A crying shame,”_ Peter had added, innocently.

Remus had stared at them incredulously. _“Yeah, guys, I’m really feeling that,”_  he had said, loudly.  _“You just reek of sympathy right now.”_

 _“But what good does sympathy do?”_  James presented this like a used-broom salesman, cocking his head and perching his chin atop his fist with a look of faux teacherly curiosity. _“Does us feeling bad for you help you in any way?”_

 _“I mean, no, not…like…in a tangible way, but…”_ He looked between their ill-contained glee and doubt started to push it’s way through annoyance. _“…What?”_

 _“What what?”_  Peter was back with the heavily leaned-upon sweetness and light voice.

_“You’re all planning something stupid. I can tell.”_

Sirius broke in with a haughty toss of his hair.  _“Um, nothing we do is stupid, I beg your pardon.”_

 _“Everything you do is stupid.”_  Remus needled back.

 _“I don’t remember you hard vetoing any plans, so I think the terminology you should be using is ‘everything WE do is stupid’,”_ James corrected piously.  _“But that’s beside the point. Our plan is not stupid. We just wanted to give you a chance to have the last word, as we won’t be talking much for the next month.”_

Remus couldn’t even fathom what this had to do with anything, let alone his condition. _“I’ve never known Sirius to be quiet for more than 30 seconds before–”_

 _“10,”_  the boy corrected imperiously, impish smile fully in charge of his face, now.

_“Let alone a month.”_

Peter shrugged,  _“Well, it’s hard to talk around a mandrake leaf without everyone noticing, after all.”_

He boggled at them blankly. Mandrake leaf? _“For the spell,”_ James said it as if reminding him, as if it were obvious.

_“The spell.”_

_“Yeah, the spell.”_  Sirius leaned on James’ shoulder with broad grin fighting free of his ‘well duh’ face.

_“Are you all drunk, or something? What SPELL?”_

_“Were we become Animagus’, of course!”_  Peter threw his hands in the air as if asking for patience.

There had come a silence that was punctuated by the sound of shifting cloth as Sirius and James simultaneously threw their arms theatrically wide;  _ta da!_

_“I…what?”_

_“We’ve been researching and preparing since last summer and we’re almost at the end. All that’s left is holding a mandrake leaf in your mouth for a whole month–a bit ludicrous, but, there you go–and a few more incantations and that’s it! We’re coming on a honeymoon with you!”_  James let loose excitedly, now that the punchline had fallen, a kid at Christmas.

 _“Isn’t it Animagi, not Animagus’?”_  Sirius muttered at Peter.

_“You guys–”_

_“Is it?”_

_“No–”_

_“I feel like that’s something you should know before you become one. Are you sure you haven’t been sleeping through the secret meetings?”_ James added.

_“You don’t under–”_

_“Have not! I’ve been working hard!”_

_“STOP.”_

They all turned back to Remus and did not look nearly as surprised at his outburst as he felt they ought. In fact, they all looked quite smug.  _“First of all, that’s illegal. Second of all, why on earth would you do this? Third of all, that’s HIDEOUSLY ILLEGAL. Fourth of all, what makes you think–”_

Sirius smirked and held up his hand, counting off on his fingers. _“First, duh. Second, so you won’t be alone when you Change each month. Third, double duh, that’s part of what makes it fun–”_

 _“For you,”_  muttered Peter.

 _“Third–no…”_ he thought about it.  _“Yeah, fourth, I assume you were gonna ask why we thought that would make any difference. We asked you about it. Last year.”_

_“What?!”_

_“Yeah,”_  Peter piped up.  _“We asked if you went after animals. You said no, not really unless you were hungry. But…you didn’t like it when that happened so you always make sure you take a potion from Madame Pomfrey before, to make you full.”_

James nodded. _“Werewolves are only dangerous to humans; we learned so in Defense Against the Dark Arts–which werewolves shouldn’t be a part of, honestly, it’s a bit offensive–”_

 _“Yes, my dear, we know your opinions and agree, preaching to the choir, please continue,”_ Sirius said placatingly sweet, rolling his eyes.

_“So, we figured, if we weren’t human, it wouldn’t be a problem.”_

Remus felt like a fish, gaping and mouthing silently until–  _“That’s…that’s just mad. It’s just too dangerous, too risky. Not to mention magic too advanced and, have I mentioned, ILLEGAL–”_

Sirius put up his hand again, this time to stop him. _“Here’s the thing. We’re not asking. We know what you would think about us trying it. We knew exactly what you’d say. I’ve actually won quite a substantial amount of knuts for some buzzwords and phrases you said, so thanks for winning me those bets. But–”_

“ _But_ ,” James took over. “ _You don’t let anyone help you. You always seem secretly afraid that we’re about to–to run for the hills or something.”_

 _“I don’t–”_  Remus started to object.

 _“But we’re not.”_  Peter said plainly.  _“Plus–”_

 _“Plus,”_  grinned Sirius.  _“It’s gonna be wicked cool.”_ The edge to it softened a bit as he met Remus’ eyes. _“We know what we’re doing. We’ve been researching this for half a year and we want to do this for you. For us. Okay?”_

3 pairs of warm and expectant gazes rested on him as he felt a trembling in his chest. Something was squeezing his throat and heating his neck and ears and face and eyes. His eyes burned. His voice cracked.

_“Okay.”_


	5. What It Will Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus does what he does best: copes.

He returned out of memory with his head in his hands, staring at the rough brown blanket of his bed. The sun shone hot on his back and the pipes gave a mighty shuddering thump. His toilet cistern gurgled softly and then went quiet and he could still smell the egg sandwich he had managed to force down earlier. His eyes were still hot. And they were gone from him once again.

It was rare that he let his thoughts stray back that far, or even farther past a few days from his current situation at all. It was better that way; safer. But he supposed it was some sort of volatile combination of his impending return to school and the fact that the moon was so close. Things were shaken up and rose to the surface and even the touch of the joyful ones hurt. They all hurt, now.  _So I won’t touch them,_  he decided hollowly.  _All I need to do is get through 2 more Changes, 2 more months. I can do that. I’ve done it longer before._

And so, Remus drifted. He warded and soundproofed the basement of an old factory on the edge of town as best he could and Changed. If it was ever discovered before it was torn down, he supposed the Muggles would have to come up with an explanation for the claw marks and utter decimation of anything even remotely breakable. Injuries that month were neither the worst, nor the lightest he had ever inflicted upon himself, so he had managed to rinse up, dress himself painfully and limp home on the public bus. He made himself his “wolf time tea” full of willow bark, chamomile, and spearmint and started doggedly writing a schedule. He received letters back and responded in kind, placing orders for books and thanking them for guidance. Eating was no longer such a hazard as it was leading up to the full moon, but his savings were dwindling, so he survived on the day old bread bakeries sold and peanut butter.

When he was publicly presentable and able to leave bed for more than a few hours, he searched for a job during the day and returned to fall asleep writing his curriculum at night. Bad idea, and he had known it, too. So soon after the Change, little sleep and a bad diet; he got sick. _It is how it is_ , his father would say, placating.  _It will be how it will be._ He pushed through–got a job as a waiter. It was frustrating because it wasn’t debilitating, he was just sore, exhausted and congested, but they sent him home his second day; can’t be sick around food. It lasted about a week before they let him go. Rather gently, compared to some.  _It will be…._ He had taken to sitting on his bed when his eyes were too tired to write and too tired to read, running his thumb over the golden lettering on his suitcase.  _Professor. Professor._ A promise of what’s to come.

He couldn’t make rent.  _It is what it is._  As far as landlords went, this one was middling, being neither overly aggressive nor overly compassionate. Dispassionate, perhaps. She knocked on his door to give him the news and he opened the door, suitcase and key in hand, electric kettle under his arm. She took the key. Bade him good luck. Remus thanked her and went to sit at the library to continue writing. The kettle received some odd looks, but he was left alone. That night, he slept in the park with his wand under his hand, suitcase tucked under his knees, and a secluded tree to his back. The nights around this time were balmy anyhow.

He drifted. The job search continued. He was revising his curriculum by night at bus stops. A great deal of introspection did not seem appealing at this time, and so he tried to retain a vague acceptance of outward stimuli. Sleeping was difficult, and he had once been roused by a kindly police officer who helped him gather his things from under the park bench and go to the train station. She hefted his kettle under her arm and seemed to be under the impression that he was a college professor that had fallen asleep revising papers in the park. She was nice and chatty enough, wished him good luck as she left him on a platform he had randomly indicated. The fluorescent-green lighting of the station hurt his eyes. He longed for lantern light and then tried not to long for much of anything at all.  _Just 1 more change_ , he reasoned. _Just one more month._   _It will be what it will be_. His gold lettering was looking a bit worn.

The next Change was harsher. He was less well rested, less well fed and it showed in the wolf’s crazed zeal, as if it fed on his weakness. He had managed to use the factory again, but when he had awoken, he recalled the memory of the wolf howling, tearing at the metal-and-magic reinforced door, rattling it on it’s hinges. Because it had smelled someone nearby. The blanch of nausea that accompanied this recollection brought up nothing, which enormously soothed him. But it was too close. It was lucky he would have the Shack again, at Hogwarts

The corner of his suitcase’s P was peeling.

Somehow, he managed to recuperate enough in his circumstances to secure a job as a gas station clerk. The days walls were gray, the manager was grayer, and it fair reeked of cigarette smoke, but he had enough to eat again. He muddled through. _It is…._

A letter found him outside the library one day, where he was reading in the sunshine, about 2 weeks out from school starting. He had been wishing he could dredge up the energy for excitement, but seeing the tawny owl dive low to perch beside him on the bench seemed like the electric jolt he needed. It suddenly seemed real again, a drop of ink in a colorless world. Blooming. He tore open the letter eagerly, feeding the owl little shreds of his fried chicken. Inside was a letter written in Dumbledore’s own flourishing hand, reading;

_Dear Hogwarts Professors and Staff,_

_Greetings! I’m hoping your summers have been fruitful in spiritual and intellectual endeavours! Unfortunately, the complications of this year will bring my heartfelt salutations to a close early in this years letter._

_As you all well know, the fugitive Sirius Black has still not been apprehended–_

Remus’ insides gave a lurch. He hadn’t known–his focused daze had not even thought to entertain such thoughts.

_And so the Minister has decided that drastic measures are warranted. There has been developing reports and we are now certain that Black is targeting a student at our school; Harry Potter. This not only endangers him personally, but each individual and especially student at our school if he makes an attempt to infiltrate our halls. I believe that Hogwarts is one of the most fortified places in the Wizarding World, but I would not want to let my arrogance blind me to the fact that we as a society previously thought this about Azkaban. The Minister, thankfully, agrees with me. Unfortunately, this has led to him deciding that our grounds require an extra amount of security, and he intends to use Azkaban’s Dementors._

_I am sure you well know my feelings on the subject of Dementors. I have made these clear to the Minister, but he believes the benefits outweigh the risks. I will defer to his authority on the matter._

‘As I must,’ was almost written in invisible ink in the margins, his cold voice came through so clearly.

_I urge you to tailor your arrival needs accordingly. Until we meet again;_

_Most sincerely,_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

Remus reread the letter, twice, before folding it carefully and pocketing it. He looked to the owl, who gave a soft hoot. “Well,” he said, mildly. “Looks like I need to wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any glaring mistakes, please feel free to let me know! I'm editing on the fly, here.


	6. Beginning Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the best that Remus has felt in years.

The days were getting a crisper edge; still a little warm and soggy, but there was a smell on the edge of night that told of chillier days to come. By that time, it was only a few days left until school started. Remus let himself stop and examine that thought, let the lightness fill him up. It was happening. Months of waiting and now it was happening; he would be a Professor, he would live at Hogwarts again. He looked fondly down at his suitcase, the golden letters now slightly worn away, shine tarnished from the wear of his life and the run of his fingers. It was peeling even more now, but he didn’t care, the truth of it still remained.

Lunch had included a self-celebratory side of chips that he munched on while riding the bus to his next destination. He was allowing himself little treats here and there, like the bus and the extra food now that he didn’t feel the tension of all that time weighing on the other end of his bank account. Yes, he could have Apparated, but that took energy and he had never been all that polished at it. Riding the bus let him watch the scenery go by, detach from his own muddlings and exist in this transient state where no one looked back at him from the streets.

It was a matter of 3 days, now and his need for personal money could be shelved, at least for the school year. The thought of that warmed him, lifted something from his shoulders until he felt practically buoyant. He let himself make faces at the baby ahead of him on the bus, smile at an older woman entering, strike up a friendly conversation with the young man sitting next to him about, of all things, the weather. It was, unsurprisingly, cloudy but bright, as if the thick insulator of clouds had withered into a lace shawl where bits of blue and–rarely–sun poked through. When it did come out, the trees lit up a verdant green, alive with collected energy, flourishing one last hurrah before the yellows and browns and reds would creep in their edges and veins. Remus had always preferred spring to autumn, preferring the naive narrative of birth rather than death, but this year, it felt more peaceful. Natural. They were merely settling down, just taking a rest. They stood all year against wind and rain and humans; didn’t they deserve a rest?

He nibbled down another chip with absent clicks of his teeth, like a child playing. According to Dumbledore, most Professors and staff simply Apparate into Hogsmeade and make their way up to the school or fly up earlier and take a small vacation in the mountains before heading to school. He had considered his method of arrival and decided on the Hogwarts Express. It was not forbidden to teachers and had been used by staff, on occasion, throughout its long history. Remus just couldn’t seem to pass up the chance to see it again, as well as the fact that Apparating that far made him feel queasy, this close to the full moon, which would come just a few days after his arrival. It wasn’t just that, however. He wanted the children to have a protective presence on the train, an authority figure. He didn’t truly believe that Sirius would be insane enough to try to board the train in broad daylight with all of the crowds, but he knew from the news in the Muggle streets as well as the Prophet were going ballistic. Their fear was tangible, like some sort of sick metal tang on the back of his tongue, whenever a broadcast would come on.

Remus didn’t feel afraid. Perhaps there was some childish part of him that couldn’t reframe the memories he had of the man into this new context. Maybe he was even secretly hoping he would see him, face him. There was no solid thought process in that area, no plan, just a quiet, poisonous rage that felt too much like the wolf for him to look at for long. There was no reason to believe he would fare any better than poor Peter had.  _School_ , he reminded himself.  _Purpose. Home._

It didn’t feel right to pack these kids onto a train without their parents and send them across country when there was a fugitive loose. And god forbid anything actually happen.

When he arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, he booked a room for 2 nights and went to meander Diagon Alley. This time, it was flooded with people, last minute school shoppers, Wizarding families from across the country staying closer to Kings Cross creating a clamouring kaleidoscope of sounds and colors and smells. There were spices, whirls of crimson and azure and mint cloth, the screeching of owls and cats and bored children; there were signs and advertisements that shifted and chimed to beckon in buyers, the smell of 3 different bakeries wafted temptingly and the ever-shifting throng shouted.  Everywhere there was a sea of humanity and palpable excitement. That little shimmer of magic came again, like a fine dust across his thoughts, fit beside him like an old friend. He smiled.

This trip around the Alley was a rather less…dramatic than he last, so far. No sign of Lucius and while there were wanted posters plastered around haphazardly, he stolidly avoided looking at them and committed himself to a lazy day of wandering. He felt more relaxed than he had in…hm.  _Best not think about that too long._  Inside of Fortescue’s, it smelled like cream and cherries and it was thankfully void of anything more stressful than a pair of toddlers shrieking about having to share a sundae. He quirked a little smile and wink at one and she stopped to give him an affronted look, then resumed crying, louder and more pointedly, at him. The mother apologized, looking rather flustered as he hid a snort of laughter and he waved it away, shaking his head. As he scanned the cheery, light-wood interior, decorated with various outrageous sundae cups that dated back hundreds of years, he spied a small wicker basket with neat stacks of Honeyduke’s best chocolate.

In a sudden fit of inspiration, he spent the last of his pocket money for the summer on the lot–he’d been studying Dementors since Dumbledore’s note and thought that this would be an even better option than the Muggle gas station candy from his ex-job he had squirreled away for this purpose. He had been planning on getting a sundae, but this seemed a proper use of his time and money as a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor; Dementors were certainly dark and chocolate was the best defense against their effects, and he intended to have an open door policy in his classroom for any who needed a pick me up. Some people could be very seriously affected by them from trauma or mental illness, and while he was sure that Poppy Pomfrey was stocking up, he saw no harm in having his own private stash for the one who might come to him with troubles. Optimistic, that, but it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Leaving Fortescue’s, he tucked his chocolate into his robe’s pockets along with his hands and set about working himself up into a stroll when he was stopped short at the sight of James Potter sitting at one of the tables.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN.


	7. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more things change, the more they stay the same--new meetings and beginnings are looking very familiar.

Remus’ heart seemed to simultaneously squeeze and flip-flop painfully as he stood frozen. Just watching. He couldn’t help it. He knew it wasn’t James the moment the stunned thought had shot across his mind. James was dead. Remus and his heart knew this; Remus and his heart had seen his body and Lily’s as they were extracted from the wreckage of their home that Halloween, after Harry had been already taken away. His heart still felt the sinking hurt at the realization of the misidentification, but that was soon overwhelmed with a different ache. My god, it was  _Harry_. Little, cheerful, chubby legged, chatty, giggly Harry.

There had been a picture of Harry in the Prophet the previous year, sort of. It  had included Gilderoy Lockhart, the photographic image of which kept stepping into center frame and flourishing with a dashing grin, while Harry’s mini doppleganger kept furtively trying to duck out all together. But this was different. The living, moving memory of Harry had always been of a little toddler, bowlegged and pudgy with ever reaching hands and an infectious laugh. He loved to be held upside down. He called carrots ‘kets’. He demanded to be tickled upon the entry of a new adult into his house. Remus’ breath caught in his chest as this new image tried to reconcile itself with the baby he knew.

The boy was short and far too thin, but the wild flare of his hair and point to his nose was unmistakable as James. James’ father was obvious in the tilt of his eyebrows when he concentrated, as he was now, over some parchment on the table beside the sundae in front of him and he saw Lily’s sharpness in his gaze. Something in him needed, fiercely, savagely, and newly, to protect him, swelling within his chest with an insistent purpose he didn’t know the source of. He wanted desperately to demand to know how he was being treated, how much he was being fed, if he had any questions, if he needed someone to tell him he was loved and valued and everything that any of them had ever wanted. To tell him that he was so sorry, that it was supposed to be different, that he had wanted so desperately to be there for him, with him. He felt the yawn of all that time behind them both, a sort of synchrony building between each year until it was almost a heartbeat as he counted them out; alone, alone alone, alone….  _It should not have been this way for him. Sirius, how COULD you._

Harry chewed on his lip, shoved his glasses farther up his nose and scratched something out with his quill. A painful pride bloomed like some kind of too-hot flower somewhere beneath his ribs. Proud of him for just existing, just trying, so young. Remus had the suspicion that Harry could have just sat there and picked his nose and he would have felt as if he was about to be reduced to tears by the fact that he was here, being,  _living_.

The door behind him chimed, startling him out of his daze and he moved aside for the mother of the young toddlers. They all looked satisfied, but the little girl shot him a suspicious stare as her mother carried her past that stuck a lump in his throat. All he could see now was Lily and Harry. With one last glance at the boy, who was chewing absently on the end of his quill and stirring his ice cream, he left. Harry did not know him. Chocolate in his pocket and a sudden loss of his urge to wander, he returned to his room in the Leaky Cauldron to spend the evening alone.

The morning of the train ride dawned altogether too soon after he’d gone to sleep, in his opinion, morning birds punctuating the excited hubbub inside and outside the pub. Despite his excitement, his dreams had been plagued by visions of baby Harry and grown Harry together, weeping in the wreckage of Hogwarts before both turning to him with Sirius’ scalding, monstrous eyes. He very consciously and adamantly refused to take that as any sort of omen. Stomach refusing even the suggestion of breakfast, he made his bed, swept up his room, and packed up his meager belongings before levitating the suitcase downstairs. He had donated his kettle to a local charity before he had left for London and could fit all the robes he owned into the case, but his joints and ligaments saw fit to remind him that the Change was merely days away and he had done an exceptional amount of walking and standing the past few days and he  _ached_. Still, he thanked Tom and the cleaning witch warmly before he left for King’s Cross, where he, unfortunately, could not levitate his things any longer.

In his heart of hearts, he was bouncing just the same as he had been, all those years ago, when he had learned he  _would_ be able to attend the school that his father had always talked about with such fondness. The fear had set in later, when he had seen the doubt on his mother’s face, the worry that he would be discovered, that he would be forced out by his peers and their parents if it ever came to light what he was. In the meeting that Dumbledore had visited their private little cottage for, the Headmaster, smiling over his half moon glasses, had asked her to trust him. That same quiet terror percolated quietly now in the back of his head, in the pit of his stomach; that no matter what he did or how hard he tried, the moment his secret got out it wouldn’t matter. They would hate him. Fear him.  But Dumbledore had kept his word and Remus had never been exposed while at Hogwarts. And so Remus was going to continue what he had started all those years ago; he would keep trusting Dumbledore.

His joy was still there. The joy and expectations and excitement and nerves and enchantment were all simmering in the pit of his stomach in a welcome change of sensation from the usual emotions he had grown accustomed to. But the growing full moon symptoms and nightmare hounded night had left him so damn  _tired_ that all he wanted to do was find somewhere away from the huge, echoing train station and sleep. Still, he smiled as he passed through the barrier between platforms and the great scarlet steam engine loomed before him. For a moment– just a moment– he was a teenager again, mother and father following behind him, James and Sirius lurking somewhere nearby to pull the first prank of the year, possibly on him, and Peter just out of sight, valiantly trying to be too cool for his mother’s slightly overbearing affections. The year was sprawled out before all of them, sweet and full of countless choices, all of them fun.

The warmth and light of those memories left him colder with their recession and he rubbed his arms briskly, as if that were the problem. As if it were something he could fix. _A seat. Just get a seat. One thing at a time._

The smell of the train, of the grease and wood paneling and pristine carpet and fresh laundry smell of the seats uncranked a knot of tension in his gut he hadn’t even known he had. Oh, how he missed this. He had always loved this part. Though he knew it was autumn, his heart felt like spring because beginnings happened in this place. New years, friends, stories, lives. Sometimes, entirely different people left this train than the ones who had entered it.

It was nearly empty for now, for he had arrived early enough to beat the crowds, but the trolley witch trundled down the corridor, sweets on hand already. “Anything from the trolley, dear?”

He smiled, shook his head mutely. Nothing would come. It was almost too much. She nodded understanding and turned to go, but not before looking over her shoulder and adding, “It’s good to have you back again, my dear.” Chuckling a little at the look on his face, she said, “I remember all my children, boy.” And she was gone.

Eyes misty, quavering smile seemingly locked into place on his lips, he drifted down the train corridor in an overwhelming wave of nostalgia, chose a car at random and collapsed into his seat. He was glad it was still empty. What a terrible first impression as a Professor he would make, weeping.


	8. Protection, Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is not fighting for just himself, anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've officially caught up with the books! All the dialogue between Remus and the kids is from the books, but from his point of view.

Remus jerked awake amidst chaos. It one moment, he hadn’t even been aware he had fallen asleep and the next, he was in pitch black, filled with squabbling young voices. It took several seconds of intense confusion to place himself–his flat? The park? The Leaky Cauldron? Captive somewhere, in the First War?– before his awareness seeped back. Train. Dark? Why….

He could feel something. Not necessarily intuition, not exactly wolf sense, but something deep in his chest felt something stirring at the end of the train, something that brought silence and…

”Not here,  _I’m_ here!” someone nearby complained.

Sleep still slowed his thinking, like wading up out of glue. Students… He should… There was something.

There came a loud, “Ouch!”

He was still trying to piece together a plan of action when something in him went cold. In that wash of chill clarity, he stood. “Quiet!” His voice was rusty from disuse and sleep, but it did what he needed; the others in the train car fell silent.  Something was coming down the corridor. He could feel it.

No. They wouldn’t be here.  Surely, no one would let them on the train, near the students. He drew his wand and pointed the tip to his palm, conjuring a pale, cold flame that washed over the cabin. 5 young faces were staring at him apprehensively, rendered slightly ghoulish in the flickering light. With a start, he recognized Harry, watching him without recognition, a ghost’s face with none of the memories. Turning his attention to the door, he rose, measuredly, wary, warning the children, “Stay where you are.”

He had intended to face whoever– whatever– it was in corridor, but the door have a soft click and slid open slowly with all the gravitas of an executioner. Immediately, all the twinges in his bones and body were magnified as if he were being held under freezing water and the hand holding the flame shuddered involuntarily. The thing that glided in was tall enough to be unnerving on it’s own, but the vile presence that cloaked it….The Dementor sucked in a rasping gulp and Remus nearly staggered, a cloying dullness weighing at his knees, his chest. So tired. So weak. And to delude himself that he knew anything about being a Professor, about protecting anyone. When had he ever been anything except a burden? When had he ever had anything genuinely helpful to anyone? Never. Only diseased. Only the one who needed accommodations for him to even be near normal people. Only a thing. His scars throbbed. He tasted blood in his mouth. Not his. Oh, god.

 _Look how you’ve helped_ , his mind hissed, dredging up the memory of James’ body, pale and disturbingly limp in death, lying amid the rubble of his house. Glasses cracked and crooked, mouth open, empty eyes wide. There had been a note written on the palm of one slack hand; need milk.  _What did you do for them?_  Lily had been face down, splinters all through her red hair. One of her socks had been missing.  _Where were you then?_  The single bloodless finger, foraged from amid other bodies, other parts, other people who did no more wrong that pick the wrong day to take their children out to go shopping. The frigid air seemed to be stuck somewhere in his chest as he stared numbly up at this… _thing_.

_Like you. A dark creature. Like you._

Something collapsed across his feet. Someone. Blankly, he stared down until the vague, pale shapes coalesced themselves into a recognizable pattern against his conscious mind. Harry.  _NO_ , said something louder, stronger, angrier than the other voice.  _You will NOT._

Rage was hot. Rage was clarifying, like a fire searing away cobwebs until he could see and think. Dementor. Unacceptable. Children. No.  _Joy_ , said the fierce voice.  _You need joy._

He had that. He stepped forward, over Harry, in front of Harry and drew his wand from his pocket. “None of us are hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks.  _Go_.” The rust in his voice was gone, burned away.

The Dementor simply watched him, beginning to draw in another breath. _I’m going home,_ he focused. The feasts and halls were ahead. The memories and the students and the scars of old pranks, the professors and the best, brightest, most loving years of his life. Second chances. Getting to know Harry. Magic. _I’m going HOME,_  he pushed savagely, feeling the gloom slough away from the corners of his mind. His hands were warm again. There was a brightness in his chest.  _I belong here and I’M GOING HOME._  Yes! “Expecto Patronum!”

The wolf burst from his wand and charged the Dementor with the speed of a shot, driving it away before it, into the corridor. _And off,_ he focused down the length of his arm, into the wand, into the spell.  _Off this train. Out into the wastes. No more children. No more chances._

He only relaxed when the lights sputtered back on, shrinking the cavernous air the car had taken on in the midst of terror, back down to cozy warmth. He took a moment to extinguish the crackling flames in his hand and take a steadying breath.  _You must be quicker. Stronger. Better. You’re no longer fighting for just yourself_. Turning, he saw a gangly, freckled boy and bushy haired, anxious looking girl already leaning over Harry. Everyone flung out their hands for an anchor when the floor gave a jolt that accompanied a piercing squeal as the Hogwarts Express lunged forward once again, quickly gaining speed. The other boy in the seat stood to hover timidly over the girl’s shoulder as the freckled one began to slap Harry about the face. A tad unwarranted, but he could see the worry behind his force. How could this have been allowed to happen?

“Harry! Harry! Are you alright?”

Even when he opened his dazed eyes, Harry looked moments from passing out or throwing up, pale and sweaty, shaking. Remus knew how he felt. As they students hauled Harry back up onto the seat with them and began talking, Remus saw the small red haired girl looked almost as bad off as Harry did and began rummaging through his pockets. Chocolate, he had gotten chocolate…ah, there. He began snapping off chunks of the largest bar, making them all start and whip around to stare at him. 5 pairs of bewildered, uncertain eyes. Yes, this was a place where they were supposed to be safe and yet, they were attacked, emotionally, mentally. Who would have prepared them for that? The smolder of fury was beginning to rekindle in his gut. How had they come on board? “Here,” he offered the first and biggest to Harry before moving directly to the shaking girl. “Eat it.” Anger made his voice clipped, and so he softened in deliberately with a small smile to her. “It’ll help.”

Poor Harry swayed in his seat, looking green and like he’d been hit by the train and stared straight at him. “What was that thing?”

 _Something none of you should have had to deal with yet. Or at all_. “A Dementor,” he replied, passing a piece and a reassuring nod to the others. “One of the Dementors of Azkaban.”

All of them looked lost, incredulous. No one moved to put the chocolate anywhere near their mouths. “Eat,” he prompted. “It’ll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me…”

He left, trying to uncurl his fingers from around his wand in his pocket.  _We do not curse other Hogwarts staff members, we do not curse other Hogwarts staff members_ – He didn’t care if this decree came from Prime Minister Fudge himself; these monsters were used to torture criminals, not school students. Unthinkable. He rapped smartly on the Engineers door, waited impatiently for another moment, then used a bit more force. His knuckles burned, but so did the kernel in his chest. A scuffle, then a young-ish wizard, stocky and blonde, poked his head out uncertainly. “Ye-es?”

“Hello. Professor Lupin. I have a question.”

“Um…yes?”

“What exactly is going on, here?”

The man looked a bit lost, for he automatically scanned the hall behind Remus before focusing back on him. “I don’t…”

“You stopped the train.”

“Well, yes. There were…I mean, there were Dementor’s on the tracks and…I can’t just…they wanted to search the train.”

“Yes,” he said, tersely. “I noticed. Why did you stop and let them?”

“They’re…they’re trying to find Black, ain’t they? They’re set to be at Hogwarts, I was told.”

“Yes. Hogwarts. Is this Hogwarts?”

The engineer looked pleadingly at him. “Sir–”

Remus stopped himself. Closed his eyes, took a breath. Not intentional, he had not done it on purpose, it was thoughtless. Well, and that was the problem. He opened his eyes again, trying to tamp down his righteous indignance. “I apologize. I realize you are trying to do your best. It’s a scary situation,” he said, gently, and was rewarded to see relief make the man sag. He had obviously been bracing. People don’t often knock on engineer’s doors, he supposed, for good news. “But,” he continued. “Were you told to do this?”

“Well, not in so many words…”

Remus’ lips tightened. This was not the man to take his grievance to. Dumbledore seemed to be his next stop. What better a way to start off the school year than complaining to your boss, right? “I see. I worry for the students and their mental health. One never knows what struggle someone else is going through in their own minds.”

The man looked a little shamefaced. “Er….”

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you. How far out are we?”

“About 10 minutes.”

He nodded and turned on his heel, making his way back to the car. When he came back in, every student was still holding their chocolate, still looking whey faced and drained. He couldn’t help a small smile from tugging his lip. “I haven’t poisoned that chocolate, you know….”

Everyone started, guiltily, and began nibbling with surprise on their faces.  _Well, I HAD told you you would feel better…_ “We’ll be at Hogwarts in 10 minutes,” he announced, then added, concerned. “Are you alright, Harry?”

The poor boy gained some color in his cheeks, but it seemed to be shame. “Fine.”

Remus sighed.  _Well…welcome home._


	9. Bright Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intention setting and a visit from mum.

The moment he left the train, he commandeered the train’s official owl, sending word to Professor McGonagall about Harry’s adverse reaction to the Dementor. The owl took off at once, and he watched it’s form recede out of sight through the pounding rain, toward the dimly glowing squares of the castle windows and felt a fundamental shift somewhere deep in his core. First official act as a Professor on Hogwarts grounds. This was it.  _Time to decide who you are going to be to this school, Remus._

He blinked in surprise, brows furrowed as he watched shrieking students pull their cloaks up about their head and dash through the rain. His mother had said that to him the night before they set off to London to take him to the platform.

He had been beside himself, practically vibrating with excitement and terror in equally potent measures and couldn’t seem to do anything but pace around the living room. His father had said gently said he was going to wear a ring around the room, but he couldn’t help it. This place and his parents were essentially all he had ever known. And he was going to be away, with people, learning from someone other than them. Hiding. The most important part to all of them had been that he was kept a secret. Not because they were ashamed of him, they would assure him– insistently until he showed some sign of surrendering that notion– but because people could be small minded and cruel. The Professors could keep the others safe from him, come the full moon, but they were worried that they could not keep  _him_ safe from  _them_.

Mother hadn’t known much more about Hogwarts than what Father had told her, but she understood public schooling, she said, and she understood how cruel children could be in this time of their lives. Even more so, she understood parents. Whenever she said that, she and Father would exchange a sad look when they thought he wasn’t looking. He always saw.

 _“What are you looking forward to?”_  she had asked him lightly.

_“I…I don’t know, honestly. Learning? Probably? Yes. Learning.”_

_“What about the feasts?”_

_“Er…I mean….”_

_“What sort of friends do you think you’ll make?”_

That had stumped him.  _“Er…what sort of friends are there?”_

She’d gone quiet for a long time, looking into the fireplace where it reflected in her pale eyes. _“Sometimes…I wonder if we’ve done you a bad turn, my love.”_

He hadn’t known what to say to that, but felt that he needed to protest on principle.  _“No, ma, you–you and dad have given me everything I could need.”_

This time, she turned to look at him to speak. Her gaze was intense, almost pleading for understanding.  _“We have tried. But there are some things that we haven’t given you because we’ve been too afraid. And that’s no way for a child to live.”_  She sighed.  _“So…I’m glad. I’m excited for you and this opportunity that Professor Dumbledore is helping us with. I know I don’t know enough about the Wizarding World, and I’m just a Muggle. But I look at you…”_  She stopped, held out her hand and he automatically moved to her, reaching out and taking it.  _“And I know your heart. And I know your mind. You are going to make so many friends, love, because if I was young again, I would want to be your friend. You’re not going to this school as a werewolf, or as Hope and Lyall’s son, or even as a Wizard. You are going as you. And now, it’s your time to decide what that means. Time to decide who you are going to be to this school, Remus. And whatever it is, I’m going to be so…so proud of you.”_

The flash of this memory opened a yawning gap behind him in his mind, a vacuum where she and his father had once stood at his back. Where his friends had. Here he was, standing on this platform, staring up at this school again, hearing Hagrid shout out for first years to follow him; alone. Not Hope and Lyall’s son. Not a Marauder. Not an alumnus. Just Remus.  _Who are you going to be, this time around?_

The question remained as he slowly made his way to the coaches. The very fact of his “adult-ness” made the students shy away, so he stepped up and sat alone as the thestral pulled his coach slowly nearer to the castle.  _Who?_  He bumped down the path, which, unfortunately, led right past a pair of Dementors at the gates. He closed his eyes against the chill wave, breathing evenly and focusing on the thought of Harry, as if he could mentally bolster the boy through his own hope alone. His hands began to ache again and he rubbed them. His scars burned and he ignored them. The slow ebb back into relative warmth as they receded behind them grounded him more than anything. The smell of damp straw and mold, rain and mud, the still lingering taste of chocolate on his tongue sprang up against his senses. He could handle this, he could. He had faced worse pain and fear before and undoubtedly would do again.  _And who will you be then?_

When he stepped off the bobbling carriage, suitcase in hand, the rain had slowed to a faint mist. The smell of wet earth was rising, wraithlike, through the chilly air and the smell of bread and meat and sweet things rolled down from the open castle doors. His chest seemed about to burst as nostalgia and homesickness and joy swelled like a bubble within him. As he strolled up to the shining, wet steps, he heard raised voices and looked up to see the same pale pointed face, bright hair, and hereditary bad attitude as his father on what had to be Lucius’ son. He seemed to be barring the way for Harry and his friends and looked particularly triumphant, which never boded well, for those sorts of people. “Did you faint as well, Weasley?” the boy was projecting loud enough to be heard at the carriage drop-off, hands on his hips. Smarmy little prick, muttered a James-sounding voice.  _Bully_ , he corrected internally. “Did the scary old Dementor frighten you too, Weasley?”  _Bullying Harry._

Hand in his pocket and hoisting on an intentionally neutral face, he stopped and called, lightly. “Is there a problem?”

As a proverbial bucket of ice water, it did the trick and doused the rising aggravation he’d sensed as all of them whirled, a sliding spectrum of various guilty faces. Malfoy recovered quickly and gave him the same once over Lucius had done, but this time, Remus bore it with no shame or worry, curiously empty of all resentment.  _Child, you are not someone that I fear._ “Oh, no–er– _Professor_ ,” he simpered, insincerely, smirking to his friends as he beat what was still a hasty retreat. He watched the rest of him shuffle away into the doors, not making eye contact and talking in undertone.  _That’s right, I’m going to be your Professor, boy._

Because he knew, now. The first time around, he had been desperate for a friend, any friend, and he had gotten 3 somehow. He would have done anything to keep them from finding out what he was, and then, when they had known, he would have done anything to make them stay. And he had. He had overlooked a great many things as a friend and as a prefect. He had let a lot of things slide by that should have been addressed.

_Name it._

James and Sirius had been bullies. They had. And he had loved them, and they had always treated him well.  They had bullied Severus and, sometimes, Peter. They were children and they had grown. James had, especially, and had even tried to make amends with Snape. Sirius…obviously, as 2 paths might diverge any way, Sirius took the darker one, by far. Bully to traitor to mass murderer. To think….

Remus pulled himself back from this particular mind-numbing vortex of despair and mentally turned away. He was here. He looked around himself and saw the chattering crowd had given him respectful berth as he stood like an ingrate in the middle of the steps, staring up at the vast doors before him with their beckoning warmth. All ages and genders and colors and backgrounds, all excited, all reconnecting, all placing their trust in this ancient institution.  _What are you going to do for this school, Remus?_

 

He set his jaw, squeezed the handles to his case and stepped forward, taking his place in the flow of people funneling into the castle.  _No more bullies. No more letting things slide. No more being complicit. Teach._


	10. Adjustment Period

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus has a hard time finding his footing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, I do not like Snape and while I try to not go overboard in my characterization, I don't write him in a sympathetic light.

Fully sated after the opening feast–truly, more full than he had been in probably years– Remus managed to stroll accurately enough to get him to the right wing and floor for the staffroom. He had never, however, had occasion to actually find where it exactly was; unlike Prongs, who had apparently had quite the prank planned for 5th year in there that had been thwarted by McGonagall. There was a pause on his easy stride when he realized exactly how seamlessly the nickname had fit back into his thoughts. He gazed around the vast stone hall and smiled, a little sadly. It made it easy, this place, to recall what he had had here.

Someone was watching him. The uneasy prickle on the back of his neck would usually have put him on the defensive in the Muggle world, but his internal danger barometer was as low as it had ever been. Probably even less so than when he was a student, as he wasn’t angling to pull some disruptive caper, now. He glanced around, casually, expecting some ghost or a portrait and locked eyes with a livid looking Severus Snape, standing at the head of the staircase behind Remus.

“Severus–” was startled out of him, but before he could even form a coherent thought, the man strode toward him and whipped out his wand. Remus’ own hand spasmed toward his own in shock, but he stopped himself with an effort. He kept his hands empty at his side.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at,  _mutt_ , but I’m the one who is going to be making your monthly potions. If you so much as wander down the wrong corridor I might make an unfortunate  _mistake_ ,” Snape hissed through his teeth, not brandishing the wand but holding it hard at his side, as if he expected Remus to start hexing him.

He blinked, utterly bewildered. “Nice to see you too, Severus, hope you had a nice summer…”

Snape’s pale face twisted further into a snarl. “You–”

Remus held up a placating hand, chastising himself for antagonizing him.  _Bad habits…_  “I apologize, but, honestly, Severus, I don’t have any idea what you could be talking about. What potion? And what exactly would I be trying?” He tried to keep anything that could be construed as mocking out of his tone. Snape seemed to be in some kind of towering paranoia that Remus just could not parse.

Remus had never liked the man, even if he had felt sympathy and guilt toward the things James and Sirius had done to him. He hadn’t deserved to be mistreated, but he had run with the crowd who had all developed into Death Eaters; those that favored pure blood and societal cleansing. Remus being who and what he was, they would never see eye to eye, but he trusted Dumbledore enough that he believed Snape to no longer be a Dark Wizard. He had no desire to be openly hostile toward him.

Snape scoffed and studied him a moment. His aggressiveness seemed to be melting into merely intense suspicion. “I know about you and I know about Black and I know about your “condition.” I have made it clear to Dumbledore that you cannot be trusted and while he seems to think he can let you back in the castle,  _I_ am unconvinced. You’ve already shown yourself to be lacking in moral fiber. You’re a danger to everyone in this castle. Which is why Dumbledore is practicing charity and having me make you the Wolfsbane Potion; it’s not as if you could afford it otherwise,” he added, nastily.

Remus’ mind was whirling at the train of thought that Snape was dragging him through, trying to find his footing and trying to find his proper reaction. The accusations stung a bit, though not as much as they would from someone whose opinions he actually cared about, and he wondered at what tact he ought to take.  _Responsible_ , he sighed inwardly,  _undoubtedly_. “Well…I can assure you I would never help a criminal harm children. If you know me and you know Si–Black, then you know how much he has also taken from me and…I would hope…you would leave room to grow as a person. Given your own story.” As Snape’s nostrils flared, he moved on. “And I wasn’t told I would be able to utilize the Wolfsbane Potion that’s…” he was honestly boggled at the thought. He had heard vague rumors of something like that being developed, as disconnected from the Wizarding world as he was, but never had ever entertained the thought of what it would be like, for he would never have the resources to try it. “Amazing, frankly. Thank you, Severus. I really…I really do regret how things were when we were at school. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your apologies. You and your opinion mean  _nothing_ to me–” Well, at least we’re on the same page, the irritated James-voice quipped. “And nothing you could say would ever make up for the fact that you don’t belong here and you never did. Monsters don’t belong at Hogwarts. Keep your regrets,” he sneered, “The only reason I’m tolerating you is because Dumbledore is on your side. For now.”

“No wonder my ears are burning, I’m being discussed,” came a pleasant voice from behind Severus, who turned whirled as Dumbledore serenely crested the stairs. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

“None.” Snape glanced disdainfully at Remus. “Sir.” He swept away, down the corridor.

The 2 of them watched him go, silently, until he was out of sight. “Everything alright, Remus?”

He took a breath. “Not an official complaint, mind, but I do believe he doesn’t like me.”

The joke surprised a chortle out of the Headmaster. “It may have been mentioned.”

“We treated him like crap.”

Dumbledore stayed thoughtfully silent.

“I had hoped that maybe we could be adults about this. I wanted to apologize.”

Dumbledore sighed. “People use their experiences in different ways; some to learn, some to strengthen. Some to embitter and hold their wounds close to fester. Severus never seemed one too keen on personal introspection, and I rather think he likes being the victim in his story.”

“But he was. At school.”

He gave Remus a knowing look out of the corner of his eye as they still faced down the corridor Snape had gone down. “I do recall that he often gave back just as good as he got. And…childhood is difficult. The teenage years particularly, I have found, as we seem to have a never ending supply of case studies in our halls every year. It is the choice of those who are hurt how they will try to heal and in my estimation, Severus has not chosen to grow past this hurt, but rather grow around it and within it. It can be easier than trying to recognize your own shortcomings. Ah, but enough gossip!” He clapped his hands together and beamed, looking Remus up and down. “Staff meeting!”

Remus devoured this experience eagerly, being the first teacherly meeting he’d partaken in. They talked about the incident on the train and when he began to bring up his offended opinions, the look on Dumbledore’s face cut him short; he knew. He agreed. He would make himself heard to those who needed to hear it. Remus was satisfied.

They shared about their summers and milestones, joys, and hardships they had come across since they had last been together. Snape stayed silent, arms and ankles crossed, shooting dark looks at Remus, which seemed to be standard as no one tried to engage him further. Hagrid and Professor Flitwick were quite chatty and he met a few other Professors he hadn’t had much contact with as a student. McGonagall, Sprout, Sinestra, and Madame Pomfrey all welcomed him warmly into the fold, with only a few embarrassing ‘I remember when you…’ stories. Filch was taking a leaf from Snape’s book and lurked cantankerously near the door, eyeing him suspiciously as if he were about to pull out a dungbomb and set it off right then. Remus tried to give him a reassuring smile, but the man just said, “Pah!”

As they concluded the meeting, McGonagall and Dumbledore rose to speak to him, both regarding him gravely. “I was extremely perturbed to hear that you were evicted, Lupin,” McGonagall said reprovingly.

He had no idea what to say to that. Sorry? “Er…”

“Remus, you could have asked to stay–” Dumbledore began and then stopped himself, shook his head. “You’re allowed to ask for help, my boy. You could have stayed here, if you were having these problems.”

Remus just looked at him blankly. It had never even occurred to him to reach out; never occurred to him that anyone would care at all where he had stayed. And Dumbledore seemed to realize this. “Here, come,” he said warmly, and held out a long, shepherding hand. “Let me show you to your rooms.”

 _Rooms_. Plural.

As they walked, Remus’ ears heated when his heart plucked at the thing he so wanted to say, but almost feared looking at it directly. Lest it disappear. “I–I wanted to thank you, Professor. Snape told me about the Wolfsbane Potion and…frankly, I’m so honored that you would let me have this opportunity. You don’t know what this means to me.”

The bright blue eyes that turned on him were kind. “No, I don’t think I ever could, fully. Which is why I wanted to do this. Just do your best, Remus. That’s all anyone can ever ask.”

“Done, sir.”


	11. Helpless to Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is forcibly cared for.

The next day at breakfast, he was accosted.

“For pity’s sake, boy, you look wretched. Are you avoiding me out of spite or have you just forgotten that you have someone to hold you accountable for your health, now, and knows how to keep track of a lunar calendar?” 

Remus blinked up at Madame Pomfrey by his elbow in dismay and confusion. “Er...the latter? I suppose?” He hadn’t thought he looked so bad when he left his room this morning; peaky, maybe, a bit gaunt. Had he been wrong? He never looked  _ good _ the day before the Change. 

Madame Pomfrey--Poppy, he reminded himself as she had insisted she call him at the staff meeting--propped her fists on her hips and fixed him with a stare that would make the Minister of Magic quail. “Well, now you’ve been reminded. So, when shall I see you? Now, or straight after breakfast?”

“Madame--Poppy, you really don--”

“ _ When _ . Shall I  _ see  _ you. Remus.”

“Er--” he gazed beseechingly at his eggs, his fellow teachers, the owl that had just landed on the staff table; anyone to come to his aid against his self appointed self-care tyrant. “Ah--” he looked to Flitwick, who hid a traitorous snort into his orange juice. Hagrid just sort of carefully arranged his sausages about his massive plate, pointedly not making eye contact. McGonagall did, however, and the slant of her reproving eyebrows rebounded his plea back on him in a distinctly eloquent fashion;  _ she’s right, you know it, and you should know better.  _ Ouch. His insides gave a peculiar shudder as if to punctuate the point. Double ouch. He wasn’t sure he could stomach any more food. “Soon?” he offered, meekly.

Her laser focus didn’t waver, posture exactly the same. “Straightaway?”

“Straightaway,” he agreed weakly. 

“Good.” She bustled out, sternly, which he hadn’t known was possible, exactly. 

He heard a chuckle from a few seats down and looked to see Dumbledore gazing at the sky-ceiling, hands folded and thumbs twiddling, the picture of Headmasterly innocence. “Traitors, the lot of you.” He muttered, not even fighting the smile that spread across his face nor the warmth through his chest. 

“Best do as she says,  _ boy _ ,” Flitwick teased and Remus shot him a look as he rose, gathering his robes about him in mock affront. He might have kicked the other Professor’s chair a little as he departed, but he grinned while doing it. Not even the cold sourness in Severus’ gaze as he watched him leave the Great Hall did anything to put a dint in the light joy that was spreading through him.

Climbing the stairs, however, he could see their point. By the time he had made his way up 5 flights, there was a sharp pain in his belly and he could feel the cold sweat stand out on his face. Damn these changes before the Change. He only had 1 flight of stairs at his old flat. Whenever it got this bad, he just avoided food and it was easier to power through it. But now he had people watching, monitoring, feeding him. He held back another smile.

When he finally made it to the Hospital Wing, there was only one other person, a young girl in Ravenclaw robes. She had the most  extraordinary fall of white-blonde hair and was wearing the most enormous pinecones he had ever seen as earrings. She seemed to have some sort of bright orange poultice spread over her face, besides her mouth and eyes, giving her the impression of being some sort of dreamy pumpkin. As he swallowed back his mounting nausea and caught his breath, he offered her a smile and a nod, to which she returned a nod and a look of vague interest. “Madame Pomfrey told me to tell you that she’ll be back in a few minutes. A boy’s bum got stuck to a toilet seat.” She seemed to think a moment. “Again. She said you’d be along in a bit and I should tell you to sit down and she means it. I don’t know exactly what that means, but, well, now I’ve told you.”

“Ah, thank you.” He gave a little wave of acknowledgment and sat, a little heavily, on the bed across from her. 

She seemed to study him, her eyes wide, pale and hazy. It was quiet for a time as he got his breath back and he was rifling through appropriate small talk when she spoke again. “I’ve heard about you. They say you’re the one who protected Harry Potter and his friends on the train from Dementors.”

“Well, less protected, more...dissuaded? But, yes, I was there.” He automatically felt his guard come up, ready for her to ask if Harry had actually fainted. The poor boy was already being mocked for it, he had seen at meals and it made his teeth grate. He would not be complicit to any more bullying. 

“What was your happy thought?” she tilted her head, orange face politely quizzical.

“I...pardon?”

“Your happy thought. Dementors are only ‘dissuaded’ through the Patronus Charm. My mum knew all about advanced and rare magic, and she’d tell me the stories she knew from her books. I’ve been wondering what my happy thought would be, ever since I heard that there were going to be Dementors here this year. I’m not expecting to be fighting them, of course,” she added breezily. “But it makes one think. What was yours?”

“...I…”  _ I’m going home. I’M GOING HOME.  _ “I...used to be a student here. This was the first place...I felt accepted. I used the memory of how I felt here and the thought that I was returning.” He studied her in turn, hands loosely clasped between his knees. “What would yours be, do you know?”

“Oh,” she waved her hand. “I have loads of happy memories. I was thinking maybe hunting dorpwings with my parents in the Andes when I was 4. Or maybe when I helped cut my dad’s hair--it ended up horrid, but we had a lovely laugh over it.” She shrugged. “I suppose the problem would be narrowing them down. I’m glad you felt accepted here, though. Do you still feel that way?”

That surprised a short laugh from him and he considered his hands and the question at the same time. “Well...yes, I would say I do. In a different way. By different people--some of them, anyway….. Thank you for asking.” 

They gazed at each other a moment, until it became just too much. “May I...ask you something, do you mind?” He ventured.

“Hm?”

“The...paste--” he made a vague gesture to his own face. “What….”

“Oh,” she smiled mistly, hand going up to dab at it gently. He got the whiff of something sharp and grassy.  “Some girl’s pushed me down the stairs and it banged up my face a bit. It’s supposed to help the swelling and soak in all the way, to check if I’ve had a concussion. It’s supposed to turn red if I have. What color is it?”

His stomach had  clenched  at the story and he struggled with a frown.. “Er, pumpkin-y.”

“Hmm, I wonder what that means. It was purple when she put it on.”

“Who pushed you down the stairs?” He couldn’t quite seem to keep the growl out of his voice.

“Oh, it’s no harm done, I don’t mean to make a report of it. These things happen.”

“No, they don’t--or they shouldn’t.” He insisted, gently. “We can go talk to Professor Flitwick about it when you get out; were they girls from your House?”

“I’m really alright, Professor, this was the first time and I really don’t think they meant to hurt me; some people just don’t think before they act. Things like this happen, but they won’t always. People grow up or grow bored. I can always come here and be fixed up, right as bumblebees again.” She smiled sunnily, the drying poultice starting to flake at the smile lines. “Don’t worry about me. Why are you here for Madame Pomfrey? If I’m allowed to ask.”

He stared at her in frustrated sympathy, but she clearly wouldn’t allow him to help.  _ And to think, I was worried she might have made fun of Harry... _ . He sighed. “Well, it seems only fair, seeing that I asked you. I’m not feeling my best. Ah, pain, indigestion. Nothing serious.” Hand to his stomach, he went for a reassuring smile that twisted to a wince as his ribs did a weird, painful shift.  _ Nothing serious, just some chronic lycanthropy.  _

She nodded slowly, eyes on his face. “I’m glad you’re here. You don’t look well at all,” she said simply and managed to sound as if she was simply stating a fact rather than judging. 

Remus smiled broadly at her through his twinges. “So I’ve been told.” 

At that moment, Madame Pomfrey swept in, looking aggravated. She spied Remus and gave him a brisk, approving nod when he twiddled his fingers at her meekly. Then, she turned to the girl and leaned in to inspect her face closely before heaving a sigh, straightening up and clearing the paste with a wave of her wand. “Now, Luna. Next time, come here straightaway when something like that happens, alright?”

“Yes, Madame Pomfrey,” the girl replied obediently and hopped to her feet. Luna, for that seemed to be her name, turned to him and said. “I liked talking to you, Professor. I’m glad you’re teaching us this year and I hope you feel better.” 

Both adults watched her glide out of the Hospital Wing and out of sight. “Did she say she fell?” Remus asked quietly.

Madame Pomfrey sighed. “Not in so many words. She was very...vague about the whole thing.” She glanced at his face and put a hand to his shoulder. “I know,” she said softly. “You can’t help people who won’t let you. Speaking of which,” her voice sharpened again, eyeing him anew. “You look awful.”

“It seems I really must invest in a better mirror,” he muttered dryly.

She ignored him. “Have you been eating lately?”

“Yes.”

“Before yesterday?”

“...Yes.”

“Regularly?”

“...Yes?”

“3 meals a day?”

“...Erm--”

“Of nutritious food?”

“Ah….”

He surrendered under her wrathful gaze and submitted to a full physical without complaint, agreeing obediently to whatever criticism of his health habits. When she was finished, he shrugged his robe back on and she piled a few potions into his arms. “This is for joint pain, I know you get that when you Change; this will help you put on and keep on weight--you’re too thin, especially this soon before the full moon. This will help you sleep tonight. I remember you having an exceptionally hard time whenever you  _ didn’t let yourself get enough sleep. _ ” Her voice practically beat him over the head with warning. “Unfortunately, you were not here in time to take the Wolfsbane potion for the required week before hand, so you will have to endure your Transformation this time around, but we shall be prepared for next month. Day after tomorrow, I will come to fetch you, as usual at dawn and we will return to the Hospital Wing to patch you up. Any questions?”

“No, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Good.” She began to turn away and then hesitated. As she looked at him slowly, he could see how she had aged little by little since he had been here last. New lines in between her brows, at the corners of her lips and eyes, more silver in her hair. Though, he supposed, he did too. It seemed that’s what she was looking at because  she reached out a hand that was no longer medical and was now familiar, bordering on maternal, and smoothed a thumb along one of the faint crows feet that connected with an old scar that disappeared into his hairlin e. “I’m sorry about your friends, Remus.” She said softly and the unexpectedness of it had him blinking hard against unwanted tears. “You were always a very kind boy and I’m sure you are a very kind man. I look forward to our time together this year.”

Charitably, she returned to her office after he stared at her speechlessly for a few moments, and that left him alone long enough to collect himself and his small hoard of medicine and cloister himself in his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reread Luna's description and realized that the books say she has dirty blonde hair, not platinum like the movies. Oh well.


	12. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first full moon back is...hard.

“Remus.”

_ Cold _ .

“Remus, it’s time.”

_ Hurts. Cold. Smells like...know this place. _

A gentle hand touched his shoulder, pressed warm cloth to his hands. His mind stirred muzzily and he lurched to a sitting position obediently, clutching them to his chest.  _ Change. Right. Smells like… _

He peeled his eyes open and squinted for several seconds before his eyes focused. Wide swipes through the thick dust. The smell of old wood exposed. He sneezed. Cold wind hissing through a crack somewhere. Watery dawn light softly streaking in. The Shrieking Shack. “Remus, dress, now.” His head swung around to her.  _ Madame Pomfrey. Right. No clothes _ . 

Mechanically, he began to do as he was told as memories of the night seeped back like some sort of dark tide slowly rising. The pain and then rage of the Change. Smashing at doors, ripping the leg clean off a chair, the beast screaming at the top of it’s lungs. Searching in a fury. His head spun briefly as he tried to put to rights the disparity between what his body was telling him and what his mind was perceiving. Did they not come this month? Did they get caught sneaking out of the castle? They hadn’t been there. The collar pulled down the back of his head and the sharp flash of pain made him wince, gingerly put a hand to it. It came away red. It usually wasn’t this bad, why hadn’t they come?

A hand came into his vision, startling him before he took it and he was helped to his feet. He frowned vaguely down at her, into a face far more weathered, far shorter than he--

Professor. 

Dead.

Fugitive.

Oh.  _ There is no one TO come. _

He must have suddenly looked stricken because she squeezed his hand and put his arm around her shoulder. “Come on, dear. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Hagrid passed on their way up the lawn in the weak light and gave a sympathetic nod and a soft, “A’right, Lupin.”

The Hospital Wing did not help with his strange time disorientation. He kept staring at the door numbly while Madame Pomfrey applied various poultices to the worst of the gashes and bruises. Kept waiting for it to open, though he knew it wouldn’t.  _ It is not the same _ , he kept repeating hollowly.

_ How? Why?  _ Something else would whisper, confused. The same place, the same pain…

She handed him a tankard and he automatically drank. Something spicy and warm danced across his tongue, seared down his throat and tumbled around sunnily in his stomach, making him blink and sit up. He rubbed his face, cleared his throat and looked around to see Mada--Poppy looking satisfied. “And there he is. Drink up, Remus. Would you like to nap here or your rooms?” She bustled away to clean up her work area, corking a vial. 

“Ah…” his voice was a croak and he cleared his throat again, though it did not help when he was hoarse from screaming. “Mine, please.”

She nodded briskly, folding up her little side table. “I’ll walk you there when you’re done with that.”

Soberly, he gazed at his hands around the tankard as she rustled about the room in preparation. He took a drink and studied the dried blood around his cuticles that they had missed. Despair seemed to be warring with the peppery-potion, resulting in a curious blankness in his thoughts, a refusal of the dip into the dark depths that lay beneath. Touching the surface did not hurt. In his mind’s eye, he saw them.

The rat clung to the stag’s pale horns as they galloped deep in the forest. The earthy musk rose from the loam, the sharp green of broken leaves in the air as they were trampled by paws and hooves. A silvery flash ahead as a unicorn darted away at their approach, sensing the predators. Somewhere near, there was a badger and her cubs. The wolf’s jaw ached with the want to bite but there was no hunger in his belly. The black dog beside him purposefully curved his course, thumping him solidly in the ribs with his shoulder, tongue lolling in a dog smile. The wolf snapped at him playfully and gave chase around the base of a vast beech tree, ducking and weaving until they broke the treeline and bolted for the lake. The wolf slowed, sniffed, eyed the castle and its glowing lights, it’s heady human smell…

A stag trumpet, a reminder, a warning, and the wolf relented, attention pulled back to the group. They splashed in the shallows, cool at night and silver gilded in the heavy moon. Most stars were blotted out by its radiance save the bright ones, strewn in constellations some other creature would know. The rat leaped from each of them, from snout to shoulder to back to antler, making a game of it as they moved farther and closer from each other. The wolf lay down in the sandy muck of the lake shore, snout on its front paws, eyes half lidded. Content. Until the dog came and tackled him, but that was all the same to him. Content all the same.

The memory left a feeling in the base of his throat he couldn’t quite explain. It was not only him who missed them.  _ Ah _ . 

“Ready?”

He nodded hollowly and they left. 


	13. Learning to Professor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Remus learns to Professor.

The next few days were made lighter, easier by a few things; his first class didn’t start until the beginning of the next week through some scheduling kindness, and actually utilizing the Hospital Wing lessened his pain considerably. Lastly, his fellow teachers. If it wasn’t Pamona Sprout in the staffroom making an offhand remark about how he was looking perkier, it was Hagrid eagerly piling 3rds onto his plate, insisting that he had to try this. He ran over his curriculum with Professor Flitwick, who seemed excited at the prospect of being a mentor. Snape would generally avoid interacting with him but seemed all too happy to stay in the room he entered and brood in his direction. He would have found it annoying if he wasn’t so determined to be almost aggressively polite toward him–and he wasn’t exactly to solid on his own motivation.

Was it to make up for their school days? Maybe. Was it because he was an adult and would act in a professional way toward his colleague? Maybe. Was it because it was one of the best ways to frustrate Severus and make him feel as if he was failing to provoke Remus? …Maybe.

But it was as if at least part of his contentment had come back to curl up warmly in his chest. He felt welcomed. He felt safe. None of the other Professor’s seemed to suspect that he would plot anything untoward. That little twinge remained, the reminder of his conversation with Lucius. The fact that a good portion of the reason that he was asked to come here at all was so that Dumbledore could keep a watchful eye on him while Sirius was loose. Dumbledore hadn’t said as much but…it was fine. He was used to not being trusted. What he had was enough for him.

Speaking of Lucius, his son had taken to staggering around the castle in bandages, he had seen, alternately bewailing his “injuries” and harassing other students. It was really quite distasteful. The incident that seemed to have started it–the run in with the hippogriff–had happened while he was preoccupied with settling in and preparing for the Change. After dinner one evening, Remus pulled Hagrid aside and asked him, genuinely, how he was. The huge man immediately seemed to deflate a bit. “Can’t say I’ve been great, I’m afraid. Reckon ol’ Malfoy’ll already know about it and he don’t like me one bit. Don’t like where it might be headed. An’ all that blood,” he shook his head and shuddered. “Knowing it was my fault. I shoulda done something different. Shouldn’ta started so big.”

Remus felt a great swell of sympathy rise within him, a fellow new teacher and said, “No, Hagrid, you’ve tried your best. From what I’ve heard, the boy seemed to have brought it on himself. You know,” he added in afterthought. “There are a few creatures that I’m going to be bringing to class. I wonder if you could help me research their care, if you have time. I think I would benefit greatly from your expertise.”

Hagrid seemed to brighten up a little, at this. “Yeah? You think so?”

“Certainly. Being a dark creature myself only gives me so much experience,” he said, wryly.

2 giant hands plopped on his shoulders and he blinked as Hagrid stared down at him very intently. “Yer not a dark creature, Lupin. Ye’ve got an illness. And makin’ you something a little bit not human doesn’t make you dark or any sort o’ thing. Me mum’s a giant, I would know, eh?” he gave him a little shake that moved him about on the stone floor a bit. “Eh?”

 _But you’re not a monster. You don’t want to hurt people,_ a voice protested darkly, _you don’t want to kill people. You don’t want to eat…._  “Thank you, Hagrid. I…appreciate that.”  _True or not._

“An’ I appreciate you askin’ me how I’m doing.” He sighed. “I don’ think it’s over. Not even close.”

The morning of his first class with Ravenclaw first years dawned sunny and blue and he could not for the life of him remember any of breakfast. There were too many thoughts scattering through his head, too many lists of things he was mentally ticking off to make sure they were done, ordered, here. He knew at some point he had dunked a piece of toast in orange juice. And ate it. Twice. It wasn’t even his orange juice, it was Professor Burbage’s.

He wasn’t nervous, persay. More on high alert. He  _knew_ everything was ready, he’d had the better part of a week to make sure that it was. It was. A deep steadying breath helped. It was. Dumbledore wouldn’t have brought him here if he hadn’t thought he would benefit the students. This alone calmed his skittering nerves enough that he was able to walk to class early at a stately pace. He walked in slowly, set his case by his chair, and examined the room bit by bit. The old, scored and scorched desks, the high sweeping windows with their thick curtains, the heavy desk at the head of the classroom.

He ran his hand wonderingly over the leather stretched over its top, soft and deep brown, years and years old. A legacy of education. Years ago, he had seen this desk from the front, sitting in the class, looking at the Professor and assuming that they were as powerful and knowledgeable and self possessed as they looked. He took his seat with a squeak and shuffle and looked out at the room and neat rows of empty desks facing him expectantly. No magic descended upon him to bestow any untold wisdom and poise. Oh well; he supposed he would just have to work with what he had. He began to set up the classroom.

When a few students began to trickle in, he glanced up every so often when the door opened with a small smile. A great many of them looked a bit apprehensive and so very very young and it was that moment that any lingering anxiety disappeared. He didn’t want any of them to be scared, and that’s what he was here to teach them; defense. He had purpose. When the last person took their seat, he rose and smiled around at the class, saying, “Hello, everyone. My name is Professor Lupin and I’m going to be your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. It seems that we are all new here, because this is my first class teaching and you are all first years, yes? How are you enjoying school so far?”

There was a myriad of responses, ranging from indifferent muttering and shrugs, sour faces, and excited nodding.  “Well, I hope this class keeps up any good streaks anyone might be having and I intend to enjoy our time working together. Now,” he clapped his hands together and turned to the board. “Let us start with definitions. I know, I know,” he answered a quiet groan of disapproval from the back of the room. “But, there will be wand work later in the day, if everyone is diligent. Quills ready? Alright. Let’s start; the difference between a hex and a jinx. Would anyone like to guess?”

The next few days, it was like he was living in a cloud lighter than air. It was easier to smile, to laugh, to breathe. He shared tea with Professor Sprout and confided that his first few classes went like a dream and she had laughed at him. “Well, it’s good to hear! I can only hope that you can keep that attitude through the year, lad, ‘cause it’s not always going to be obedient little ones and homework done on time.”

Fast approaching was the class he was anticipating and dreading in equal measures. Anticipating because Harry would be there. Dreading because Harry would be there. From what he’d seen of him briefly in the halls and at meals, the boy laughed like James, walked like James, moved like James. He scowled like Lily and pinched his eyebrows together in the same way as her when puzzled and his smile had her dimple.

There was this flash against the back of his eyes every so often when he looked at him; sometimes it was a connection to his school days. Sometimes it was a direct parallel to a memory of them. Other times, it was their dead faces. Or Sirius’ gaunt mug shot searing up at him and the knowing that he was coming. He wished he could look at Harry and just see…Harry. No one dead. No one trying to kill the boy. Just a new beginning.

The train ride had switched the order of his curriculum around dramatically and it felt almost like fate when Professor McGonagall had told him there was a boggart in the staffroom just the day before his next class, because he wanted to teach about fear.

He knew about anxiety and terror, he knew about how scary the world could be–he was one of the things that made it scary. And with the dementors and the threat of Sirius lurking around, the greater and more blanketing threat of Voldemort’s stirrings…The children needed hope. The children needed control. They needed tools to learn not be consumed by fear and doubt. How not to crumble and give up, but instead transform their fear into something they could use; anger, motivation, humor, power. He wanted them to be ready and strong, for whatever the world might hold for them because he had desperately needed it at their age. ‘Don’t be scared’ was just no longer an option in a world where adults let Dementors on trains for your own protection. ‘Don’t be scared’ was never an option when you were at the mercy of something greater, angrier, more murderous than you. The students needed that. Harry needed that.

The day arrived and so did he, a little late, with a smile and his briefcase. “Good afternoon.” He looked around the room and his smile widened a bit. “Would you please put all your books back into your bags. Today’s will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands.”


	14. Temper, Temper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape pushes too far and Neville needs positive affirmations.

Remus was moving everything black into place with measured sweeps of his wand when someone poked their head in. “Class is over, Remus?” McGonagall asked, mug in her hand and book tucked beneath her elbow.

“Yes, it all went rather well, happily. We are now boggart free.” He aimed the squishy salmon chez back into the nook under the window where Professor Binns liked to hover a few inches above the seat; he gathered it had been a favored spot when he was alive.

She nodded. “Good. I’m sure it was good practice.” Waiting, she watched the high winged scarlet armchair glide over to her and sat neatly when he swept it up behind her. “Thank you.”

He nodded back with a mild smile and continued his arranging, thinking. Severus’ treatment of Neville had truly nettled him and he didn’t want the boy’s success to be over-looked. Professor Sprout was stretching with a yawn when she wandered in and flopped onto a dark green love seat and pulled her hat over her eyes. The door opened as he spoke to the room at large, “I had Neville Longbottom in my class today and he did exceptionally well.”

“Really?” McGonagall sounded taken aback and Sprout lifted the edge of her hat so one eye peered out.

“With you, Lupin?”

Remus nodded and sank into a squat brown-leather armchair. “He was the one who finished it– the boggart– in the end.”

“I wouldn’t expect it to be a trend,” came a sneer from near the tea tray.

Remus turned in his seat to see Snape’s back to him, sorting through scones the House Elves had brought up after lunch. He must have been who came in when he started speaking. “I suppose everyone is entitled to their opinions. But I would thank you to not insult my students in front of me,” he replied coolly.  _I would thank you not to insult Alice and Frank’s boy in front of me, as well._

Severus favored him with a disdainful lip curl. “As always, celebrating mediocrity and failure. Though, I wouldn’t put much stock into your opinion of character, seeing how you seem to favor murderers and cowards.”

Something dark shifted in his gut, but he kept his voice level. “Are we going to have a problem, Severus?” He asked mildly.

Snape ignored the question, turning instead to lean against the wall, scone in hand. “Longbottom’s not Pettigrew, Lupin. Still maybe as dull and useless, but I wouldn’t get too chummy with him; remember how the last time you failed to protect someone like that went.” He held up his long, sallow ring finger and wiggled them.

“Severus!” McGonagall protested, sounding appalled, at the same time Sprout barked, “Remus!”

He was on his feet without quite remembering how he came to be there. There was a peculiar ringing in his ears and everything seemed brighter, sharper somehow. His chest hurt.

“Or maybe you left him to confront a cold blooded murderer alone on purpose. Did you have better things to do?” He asked in mock understanding. Remus’ hands spasmed.

“That is enough.” McGonagall stepped between them sternly, rounding on Snape.

Sprout approached his side. “Lupin.” He couldn’t seem to look away from Snape. “Lupin.”

He wrenched his gaze to her, eyes wide. She looked strange, almost wary. “Deep breath, lad. Calm down.”

Dazedly, he took a breath and realized he’d been holding it against a mounting honest to goodness growl in his chest. He looked down and his whole body was shaking, lightly. His fists had been clenched. Gulping in about breath, he backed up several steps until his back hit the wall.

“Black’s been sighted nearby, have you heard?” Snape raised his voice over his shoulder as McGonagall ushered him firmly toward the door. “Too bad your old mate didn’t stop by for a visit. Or maybe that’s why he’s here?” He added nastily before the door shut with a snap behind him.

Both women were watching him carefully as they turned back from the door and that more than anything made him sit heavily on a foot stool, taking measured breaths with his face in his hands. So. That’s why. Trying to make him admit to planning something with Sirius. Trying to antagonize him into being dangerous enough to be sacked. It made sense. He was still shaking. If this had happened closer to the full moon…

“Remus?”

The voice was unexpectedly near enough that he leapt to his feet again, away. McGonagall was standing with her hands up, as if soothing a wild animal.  _God_ –

He ran a hand over his face and hair, taking a deep breath. Sirius. Nearby. Coming closer to Harry. _Why_ , he thought venomously, _what do you gain, you–you–_ Trying to assemble anything that looked like a regular expression seemed to fail, because she just pursed her lips, unconvinced. “Maybe you should–”

There was a knock at the door and sure threw her hands up in exasperation. “What now?!”

Sprout answered it and that all could hear the timid voice of Neville, “Er, sorry. Is… Professor Lupin there?”

McGonagall made a warning face and Professor Sprout nodded, turning back to the door. “Sorry, Longbottom, he–-”

Remus found his voice. “Professor, it’s alright. I can see him.” It might have been a little too rough, a little too deep, but it was recognizable.

He drew in a breath and went to the door, pulling it open wider. The boy looked nervous and like he was rethinking his plan, so Remus closed his eyes and tried to pull himself together. When he opened them, he gave Neville a tired smile. “Hello, there, Neville. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Er, well…you weren’t in your office…I just…”

“Did you want to talk to me about something?”

“Um…sort of…”

Remus gestured invitingly down the corridor and walked with him, fists shoved deep into his pockets. “Something on your mind?” His mind was still roiling and his hands still shaking, but he kept his gaze and his voice steady. Not the boy’s fault.

Neville was glancing over his shoulder apprehensively and it occurred to him that he might have been coming up the corridor of the staff room just as Snape left. The thought made him bristle but he shut a lid over it and sat on it. This was about Neville. Not Severus. Not Sirius. “We can wait until we get to my office, if you’d like,” he offered gently and the boy jumped at being caught, but then nodded sheepishly.

When they reached his office, he held the door open for Neville and then entered himself. His office didn’t hold many things, as he didn’t own many things, but it did include a squashy auburn arm chair in the corner he’d found in an abandoned classroom on the 7th floor, an old oak desk and pair of chairs that had been left, and a dark green and brown striped rug that Dumbledore had presented to him as an “office warming” present, as apparently, it got fairly chilly in the wintertime. It wasn’t much, but it made it feel warmer and more like his own. He gestured vaguely and said, “Pick a chair, I’ll made some tea,” over his shoulder. The familiar movements of it helped lower him back down to center and by the time he turned with his 2 chipped mugs and a chocolate bar in his hands, he was nearly as calm as he looked. Nearly.

Neville had nervously perched on the edge of the armchair, so Remus pulled one of the desk chairs around to face him and held out the tea, which the boy took gingerly. He then held out the chocolate bar that Neville frowned at uncertainly. “I…haven’t been around Dementors lately, Professor…”

“In my estimation, Dementors aren’t the only things that can make us feel a bit cold and empty inside,” he smiled warmly. “Consider it a thank you for helping us get rid of the boggart.”

The boy took it and held it in his lap, not meeting Remus’ eye. “That’s…sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Ah?”

“I…I just wanted to warn you that I’m pretty much rubbish at everything. Today was…today was weird. I just didn’t-–you seem nice, y’know? I didn’t want you to feel like you weren’t doing well as a teacher when I started…started to go downhill, is all.”

My god, he looked so much like Alice. Same round face and eyes, same freckles as Frank. But he didn’t have their lightness and joy, Alice’s perilous wit and Frank’s quiet confidence. He should have known them at their best. Remus was silent for a while, watching the shame and defeat play across this young boy’s face and felt a different anger; this one slow and hot and contained.“I don’t gossip about my students, Neville,” he said slowly and Neville looked up at last, confused.

“Huh?”

“I have learned to believe what I see and I don’t partake in any nasty rumors that might be floating around. Now, what I’ve just heard you say sounds like a nasty rumor about one of my students, Neville Longbottom. Do you know what I saw him do today?”

Neville shook his head mutely.

“He faced one of his greatest fears and laughed at it.” He took a sip of his tea and crossed his legs. “He was the first one to do so in his whole class. And it wasn’t a monster or some abstract thing he’s not likely to meet; he has to deal with this one almost every day. He learned the spell so quickly and so well, he even finished off the boggart.” Remus tilted his head and said, gently. “Does that sound like rubbish to you?”

The boy squirmed uncomfortably, flushing a little. “I mean, not when you put it like that, but–-”

“But nothing,” he broke in kindly, but firm. “That is what happened, Neville. And I’m not asking you to be proud of it if you can’t be, but I know I am.”

Neville fiddled with the chocolate wrapper, picking it open and reddening all the way up to his ears. He said nothing for a while. Remus watched him patiently, sliding his tea mug around and around in his palm. “It’s just-–” the boy burst out. “I get so nervous and my Uncle says I’m barely not a Squib and I’ve never been good at much of anything but Herbology. Not even that, so much. Everyone laughs at me. I’m not good or brave or smart or talented. I feel like everyone else gets it so much easier and I just…I just wonder what’s wrong with me.”

When he looked up to meet Remus’ eyes, he saw Peter in his face so plainly it was a twinge in his chest. Pleading, uncertain, unconfident.  _“Can I sit with you? Please?”_

_‘Did you have better things to do?’_

_I don’t try to bully helpless boys under my care, Severus. That I never did do._ “Neville?”

“…Yeah?”

“Your best is good enough.”

Neville blinked at him. Then blinked again, rapidly, staring down into his teacup, biting his lip. “…Thank you, sir.”

They finished the rest of their tea in silence as Remus gazed around the room in idle interest, giving the boy time to compose himself. With a loud sniff, Neville at last rose. Remus took his cup and held up a staying hand when the boy tried to give back the slightly worse for wear chocolate bar. “Keep it. You earned it, remember?”

Awkwardly, the boy stuck out his hand and Remus tucked a cup beneath one arm to shake it, firmly. “Come back any time, Neville. I look forward to having you in class.” He looked him in the eye as he said it, willing him to believe it.

“…Look forward to being there.” He gave him a watery smile with more than a bit of Alice in it, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might add in a scene about the boggart class later just for the sake of flow but I dunno??


	15. Ups and Downs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus doesn't have the best mental health and Peeves is Peeves.

Left to his own devices, Remus fell into a comfortable routine. He slept well and ate well, taught his classes with vigor and enjoyment, and enjoyed actual leisure time. In the past, he was too exhausted or too worried to do much else but work and look for jobs when he wasn’t. It was often spent dreading the upcoming full moon, even when looming weeks away. But now, he had more options than he knew what to do with for the first time in a decade; some days he was in the library perusing books, others he was taking a stroll down around the lake, others still he would take tea with one Professor or the another and they would chat about various things. No one ever broached the topic of Sirius, and Remus had to wonder if that was because they were too polite or too uncomfortable. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t worried about much of anything; he was simply too busy. And too busy enjoying himself.

He had had the girl Luna in his class a few times and her questions always made him smile. They were always about the sentience of the creatures he talked about and theories and spells he’d never heard of, which he admitted to her. She offered him a copy of her father’s magazine, the Quibbler, after class one day and he graciously thanked her and promised to read it. She had studied him a minute behind the fronds of a quite spectacular hat that seemed to be made of swamp material--in honor of the kappas they were learning about, she had confided when he’d asked-- then announced with great conviction. “You’re doing better.”

That had startled a short laugh out of him, as she so often did, and he had said, “I beg your pardon?”

She pointed at him. “Since the Hospital Wing. You look better.” Her hands went to her own cheeks and pinched them. “Meatier.”

He bit his lip against the snort that was trying to force it’s way out of him.  _ That’s a new one.  _ “Ah, well, thank you. And you--no more incidents with any stairs?” 

The swamp hat wobbled precariously as she shook her head, smiling. “No. Most of my hats end up destroyed one way or another--but I can just build another one; I wouldn’t have much room for them anyway, if they weren’t.” She looked down the corridor, which was draining rapidly of people down the stairs. “I’d better be off for lunch. See you on Friday, Professor.”

He sighed and closed his eyes, gently tapping between his eyes with the rolled up Quibbler.  _ If only she would just ask for help… _ . It had come up in a moment at breakfast with Dumbledore one day and the conversation had wandered onto her, the peculiar girl he had met.

Dumbledore had watched him shrewdly and said, “A lesson each must learn in their own time, perhaps?” And took a sip of cordial.

Remus had flushed at the poke and had gone back to his sausages. 

Neville had come back in a few times to his office for tea and had brought some biscuits his gran had sent him, apparently for doing so well in Remus’ class. “I figured they were partly because of you, so you should get some,” he’d said eagerly, flushed face shining. And who was he to refuse that?

They hadn’t necessarily talked about much in particular, just chatted about Neville’s class and friends, dunking the treats in their tea. It was getting much easier to just talk with people after being alone so long. He was getting used to being addressed as Professor Lupin, now, and no longer startled when people greeted him by it in the halls. He was starting to grow into the corridors and rooms, feeling less like a child playing dress up and more like an actual teacher who belonged there. From what Neville told him, Defense Against the Dark Arts was one of the most eagerly anticipated classes of the set and he had to admit, he felt deeply touched by this fact. When Neville had seen his face when he said this, he had added, “I mean, how could it not be? Especially since you don’t just set pixies on us and tell us to clean it up.”

Remus stifled a chuckle at the haunted look on Neville’s face and nodded. “Not, at least, without telling you how, first.”

As the weeks rolled on into October, however, the weather got wetter and colder and the dark began to close in around the castle earlier and earlier. The bite was starting in his office and it became habit to start his fire first thing in the morning. The next full moon grew closer. Halloween was coming. His thoughts, inevitably, drifted darker as well. He kept it to himself, but the more he heard that the students trusted and liked him--while it did please him greatly--he felt...like an imposter. Like the way that Snape still glared at him whenever he was around at meals or in the halls or in the staff room. It wasn’t that he took more stock in Snape’s opinion, he just felt something in him agree with it more, day by day.  _ Traitor,  _ it whispered.  _ Monster. If only they knew, would they love you?  _

No. And he had known that. He would be feared, loathed. They wouldn’t look to him with eyes brimming with curiosity. They wouldn’t speak to him so readily and certainly not alone.

_ You’re lying to them. _

Whenever Neville asked a question about his time at Hogwarts, he would deftly spin the conversation away. Not only because he didn’t want anyone asking questions about what the murderer Sirius Black had been like in school-- _ loud, hilarious, arrogant, insatiably loyal. I thought--  _ but because the wall he had constructed so carefully between those times and himself were becoming permeable. Things were leaking through. 

He had been doing well, until now, ignoring the ghosts of memories in the corners of his eyes, purposefully shoving away the familiarity of certain spots in the castle. But it was failing. 4 times, now, he had almost called Harry James when he spoke to him in class. Each time he had felt that same lurch in his stomach, for the comparison would not just hurt him, but the boy as well. And that was the last thing he wanted. He would see someone pass in front of his door that he could have sworn was Peter, hear a snatch of Sirius’ laughter from down the hall. Even now when he visited the library, he would avoid looking at the table they had favored when they researched the Marauder’s Map. But by avoiding it, the awareness of where he was  _ not _ looking left a burning focus in his conscious mind. He stopped going. 

_ I want to be who I am now. That hurts less. Who I am now doesn’t have anything to lose, because he’s already lost it. _

He had made the mistake of irritably telling Peeves to get lost, one day, when the poltergeist had popped in through the ceiling and snidely asked where all his ickle friendies were. A wide, malicious grin had spread across his face and he had revolved slowly through the air. “Oooo, temper temper, Lonely Loony Lupin. You 4 played some naughty tricks, I remember you, I do. Did you wose your fwiends? Whewre have they gone?” 

Remus had taken out his wand slowly while making eye contact and the little man’s eyes had narrowed into mean slits over his grin, but he had blown open the door and flew through, singing at the top of his voice, “Loony Loopy Lupin! Loony Loopy Lupin!”

Peeves didn’t dare bother him during class time but would take to hovering outside his office door and doing voice impressions of people who were dead. Some were bad imitations. Some...weren’t. He ignored him. 

A week before the next full moon and it was time to start his first inoculation of the Wolfsbane potion. Snape banged it on the table next to him at breakfast with a little more force than was necessary and stalked away without even looking at him. Remus had taken it apprehensively and peered into the smoking goblet; it was a brownish-green and smelled vaguely of compost. Promising. He glanced around, almost furtively, and taken a sip. He clapped a hand to his mouth and almost choked. It tasted  _ worse _ than compost--like old socks and rotting things and metal. He forced it down and reached hurriedly toward his orange juice, but caught Snape looking at him from down the table, shaking his head. When Remus scrunched up his face in confusion, a malicious smirk spread across the other man’s mouth and he slowly mimed drinking the whole thing at once. Remus stared at him. Was he serious? Nothing in between sips? Or was he just being an ass? Snape’s smile grew and he raised a mocking eyebrow at him.

_ Ugh _ . He would not be dared by Severus Snape. But if that’s what needed to be done. He stared at the goblet grimly with new eyes and keen awareness of exactly when and where Snape had chosen to give him this potion; in public rather than his office or the staff room or Hospital Wing. Fine.  _ It will be worth it. No more rage. No more losing yourself. No more fear every full moon that this will be the time that you escape and… _

Determined, he lifted the goblet and drained it in one, long pull, trying his very best not to gag, but unable to keep the twist of revulsion off of his face. It was even worse, now, with the aftertaste in his mouth as well. He felt the whole thing writhe down his throat and slosh in his stomach. Eyes closed, he willed it to stay down, still gripping the goblet hard, but after a few moments, his gut settled. Slowly, he went back to eating. He did not look at Snape, but he also did not drink any orange juice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was inordinately gleeful that I managed to include the previous chapter's title in this chapter....


	16. Moony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changes are never easy....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is slightly graphic descriptions of the Change and brief suicidal ideation mention

It was an odd sensation, after a few days of drinking the Wolfsbane potion in succession; he hadn’t realized how closely the wolf usually lurked under the surface the week before the Change. He was slower to irritate, now, and it was far easier to actually feel as calm as he projected; he was able to be unerringly polite to Severus whenever he dropped it off. Unfortunately, it didn’t do much for the physical symptoms of the pain and nausea and general decline of health, as he would need to transform whether he kept his mind or not. And now that the time was drawing nearer, he was growing inexplicably nervous.

For the first time, he would be himself while being not himself. He usually remembered most, if not all, the memories of the night before when he transformed back, but now there would be no blank spots and no cut off point; it would just be…him. As the wolf. This would be the first time he would be even remotely coherent during a full moon since he had run with the rest of the Marauders. Usually, all there was to remember was a chaotic blur of rage and blinding pain, frantically searching for an escape and the ever present need to bite and tear and kill. With them, though…it had been different. It had been almost fun. Because with them, it wasn’t a time of fear as it had been through his childhood; fear of discovery, fear of hurting people, fear of the pain. For them, it was a time of adventure and they had treated it as such.

 _“You’re funny when you’re Moony, y’know,”_  Sirius had said suddenly one day, when they were all silently working on homework on their respective beds.

_“So, that’s staying, then. That name. THAT name.”_

_“I mean, it fits, doesn’t it?”_

_“Yeah, I’m Moony, the werewolf who moons people.”_   Remus made a pained face.  _“I love it.”_

 _“Weren’t you the one who said we needed anonymity for the Map?”_  James chimed in without looking up from his paper, frowning in concentration.

 _“Yeah, but I meant NAME names. Like fuckin’ Fleamont,”_  Remus deadpanned and James did look up.

_“WILL YOU NEVER LET THAT GO?”_

_“I mean, you were the one who made the mistake of telling us,”_ Sirius pointed out reasonably.  _“It’s US we’re talking about.”_

 _“Ridiculous middle names aside,”_  Peter said and a strangled noise came from James’ corner.  _“What about the rest of us?”_

 _“So we’re REALLY sticking with that?”_  Remus complained loudly and was met with a chorus of  _“YES.”_

 _“What do you first think of when you think ‘dog’?”_  Peter asked Sirius.

He sauvely ran a hand through his mane of black hair and started confidently, obviously going for something cool,  _“Pad–”_  he faltered and lost a bit of steam.  _“Uh…ffffoot.”_  He visibly cringed.

They stared at him in silence.  _“Done,”_  announced Remus and turned to the other 2.  _“What about you?”_

 _“No no nooo, do over!”_  Sirius wailed.

Remus ignored his plea triumphantly. _“Nope! Give a stupid name, get a stupid name.”_

_“That is–that is so unfair. James, Moony is bullying me!”_

Remus grinned.  _“Shut up, PADfoot.”_

_“Ugh!! White Fang!”_

_“No.”_

_“Death wish!”_

_“No!”_

_“Uh, uh, Swift…butt!”_

_“Holy shit, you’re bad at this. What would James be?”_

_“Lightning!”_

_“We’re not talking about you anymore PADFOOT, we’re talking about Mr McStag over here.”_

_“Oh!”_  Peter exclaimed and put the back of his hands to his forehead, spreading his fingers. _“Uh, what are those things? Oh oh OH–PRONGS!”_  he yelled, excitedly.

James looked affronted while Sirius and Remus burst into simultaneous laughter.  _“They are called ANTLERS, thank you very much.”_

 _“PRONGS!”_  Sirius howled.

“ _Prongs_!” Remus choked in agreement.

 _“What about me?”_ Peter seemed wary of asking, seeing the way James was mock glaring at him.

“ _Sniffy!”_  Sirius fell back on his bed and rolled around, tears streaming down his face.

“ _No–no– Tinypaw!”_  Remus hiccuped.

 _“Wormtail.”_  James said bluntly and Peter let out a soft moan of despair, because he knew what was coming.

“ _WORMTAIL!”_ The other 2 wheezed and broke down into complete hysterical peals of laughter.

 _“Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs?”_  Peter repeated dubiously.

“ _What a bunch of idiots!_ ” Sirius hooted.

Well past the time any homework was going to get done, they had managed to stop breaking into spontaneous giggle fits and migrated to sprawl on the floor.  _”Okay, but you said I was’ funny’ as a werewolf?”_

_“Oh, yeah, that. Yeah, you know, you always talked about how you just become a mindless animal who only wants to kill but you actually, like, play around.”_

Remus was silent and James added,  _“You got water up my nose last time. Lake water. It was gross. And you totally did it on purpose,”_  he stretched out his foot and kicked Remus’ leg.

_“Ow. How do you know that?”_

_“You did the thing that dogs do when they smile; you were totally laughing at me.”_

_“You guys…I don’t really like the idea of you thinking that…that that’s me. It’s dangerous. It’s a monster. I don’t want you to underestimate it.”_

_“So you don’t remember?”_ Sirius rolled onto his back and began opening and closing the 4 poster curtain with his wand, idly.

 _“I mean…I do, some. Nothing complicated. The wolf doesn’t think like the same way we do.”_ But he had had to admit, the wolf was exponentially calmer when they were all together. He almost never hurt himself anymore when he Changed. He sighed. _“I just don’t want you guys to be hurt. Don't…don’t PLAY with it. It only takes one bite–”_

 _“We know, we know.”_ Sirius waved his hand dismissively. _“Just one bite, whether we’re in human form or not. Where are we going next moon?”_

Where would he go  _this_ moon, alone? Remus sat in the armchair in his office, tapping the arm restlessly as he stared out the window at the sinking sun. His last potion was drunk, his office locked and warded, just in case, and a space cleared in the center of the room for his Change. This time in the cycle never made him  _calm_ , but he hadn’t been this nervous about it in a very long time. Usually, it was just sort of a tired, dull acceptance when he prepared, but this new attention to every detail gave him a heightened awareness that was even more uncomfortable. He had had a constant headache all day and all his joints felt like they were under some immense pressure, which was normal; the day of the full moon always felt a bit like being wrung out and run over at the same time. But he now felt every sensation, paid attention to every thought and it was driving him a bit…well, loony. Shaking his head at himself, he checked his watch, then removed it, undressed, folded the clothes, and placed the lot in the middle of the desk.

It was close now, he could feel every one of his scars prickling, aching. All his muscles felt taught as piano wires. It was hard to tell if he was more nauseous than usual. Maybe he should have asked Snape about side effects.  _Funny_.

The first convulsion of pain that smashed into him stunned him. He had been waiting for the lurch of vertigo that usually preceded the whole thing, but no. Just immediate, crushing, twisting, burning, snapping agony. Joints cracked backwards, radiating starbursts through his body. Muscles folded, knotted, melted. His skin was a millions of repeating wasp stings. He was blind. He was deaf. Skin stretched beyond tearing, every bone broken, shifting. And then it swelled, cresting to the point where he always was secretly hoping that this time would be his last, that this would actually be the death of him. The part where he would be pummeled into darkness to surface the next day.

But no. It was just him. Him and this furious, liquifying force that was taking his body and breaking it. He didn’t know how long it continued. It felt that this was all he had ever known. This is where he had always been. Right here, on the floor of this office, writhing. The full Change blistered through him with no recourse, no unconsciousness.

Finally, his mind clarified enough to realize he was simply laying on his rug, panting and sore. For one, heartstopping moment, he thought he had not Changed after all but this was quickly erased as he tried to lurch to his feet and realized that his body no longer twisted that way. It gave him an uncomfortable buzz of hyper awareness as it felt at once alien and familiar to stand on 4 legs, to be able to move his ears, to smell every person who had been in this room. This is something his body knew that he did not. It was strangely empty to stand there, the thing he feared but needn’t, for now. The monster was gone. But the monster was him. He shuddered and slunk under the huge oaken desk to curl up. He did not look at the moon.

He did not sleep.


	17. Empty Chairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hagrid reaches out when Remus flounders.

Physically, this month was the fastest he had ever recovered from the Change; there had been no physical injuries, and so all he had to battle was the intense fatigue, his body being stiff and sore, and the mildly flu like symptoms that could follow. He could not say that he was looking forward to the next full moon, but as it’s gleaming face was whittled away, night by night, he had to admit that it was far preferable to Change with the Wolfsbane potion. Very disorienting, quite disturbing, but it felt…freeing. He wasn’t a danger, then. As long as he locked himself away, there was no possible way for him to hurt anyone. Thus ended his trips to the Shrieking Shack. He was unsure how he felt about this; it felt far less isolated, but he wouldn’t miss the disorientation when waking up. He might miss the memories, though. Just a little.

He picked his classes right back up where he’d left them, students none the wiser. The cooler days found him outside, walking by himself; there were only so many memories that could plague him here. The bite of the wind gave him something else to feel, the smell of the leaves something else to remember. Halloween was approaching. While he had seen the Dementors around, drifting in the distance across the ruffled lake surface, lurking in the shadows of the treeline, none had come so close as to affect him. Some dark part of him almost wished they would. Perhaps that was not such a good thing. Something in him was stirring restlessly that did not fit quite as well with the warm, fire-lit interior of the great stone walls of Hogwarts as it might have. Whether wolf or some buried trickster impulse trying to resurrect itself from his schooldays, he didn’t wish to examine.  So he roamed.

It was such a day when the grounds were mostly empty and it was chilly enough to leave the tips of noses and fingers red and numb that he spotted the giant form of Hagrid and his dog trudging across the hill, toward the forest. On an impulse, he ambled closer and the huge man called a greeting. “Oi, Lupin!”

He lifted his hand and the corner of his mouth. “Hello, Hagrid. How are you on this fine afternoon?”

The wind spat an extra-hard shove that almost staggered him, as if in spite. “Oh, just off to the vegetable patches to collect more lettuce for the flobberworms,” Hagrid answered, looking down at the huge tub in his hands.

“…Ah.” Remus wasn’t entirely sure what a flobberworm was and yet, could clearly picture one from the unfortunate name alone. “Would you like some help?”

His ruddy face brightened. “O’ course! This way!”

As they set off walking, Remus glanced around Hagrid’s back at the dog trotting on his other side. “Hello, there.”

The boarhound eyed him and growled softly, tail between it’s legs, before pressing closer to Hagrid’s hip. “Oi!” Hagrid sounded offended on his behalf. “What’s got into you? That’s rude, that is!” He looked down at Remus, who was now looking straight ahead, flat faced. “Sorry, ‘e’s not one to do that sort ‘o thing.”

“It’s alright. Dogs don’t like me,” said, grimly. Wolves are dangerous. “I’m used to it.”

Fang’s eyes never left him and he never left being glued to Hagrid’s side as they knelt amid the enormous heads of lettuce that was bigger than his entire head. After they stripped a few down and added them to the tub, they rose, if a little stiffly, and made their way back across the grounds. The late afternoon sun barely managed to filter through the dense and surly clouds, giving the dark rolling lawn a slightly underwater feeling. Hagrid invited him inside his hut and Remus was surprised to find himself agreeing, despite his recent isolationist bent. The cozy light that flowed from it seemed too lovely to pass up when his hands were growing numb. Inside, it smelled of tea, straw, and baked goods and the heat from the fire seeped into his bones like some sort of broth. The dog immediately leapt upon the massive bed and shoved himself behind the pillow, giving small, intermittent shudders. Remus was careful to not look at him.

“Now,” Hagrid plunked the tub on a low stool near the door and went to rummage in some high, rough-hewn cupboards. “Would ye like some tea or–” he pulled down a glass and something amber in a bottle. “Maybe a bit stronger?”

Sometimes, alcohol could make the Change and the symptoms worse, but he was still a about 2 weeks out from the next full moon. And the restlessness within him craved a break in the schedule he had, as comforting and dependable as it was. _Is this a good idea?_ muttered a Peter-like voice in him and he took the offered glass. “Thank you.”

“How is Hogwarts treating ye, Lupin? Is it different to be back?” Hagrid asked as he poured until Remus held up a staying hand.

“Yes, quite different. It’s…” He meant to say wonderful, but he trailed off, unable to grope for the right word.

“Painful?”

He looked up quickly at Hagrid to see him watching his face with a rueful smile. “Ah, that. I was expelled, y’know, me third year. Left me all alone with nowhere to go, that did.” He poured his own huge tankard and shook his head. “Terrible place to be.”

Remus looked back down into his glass for a moment, trying to will away the swell of memories that the words had awoken. He took a sip and sucked in a breath as it burned down his throat, warmed the pit of his stomach. “It is.”

“I was 13, then. Same age as Harry, actually,” he added, seeming struck by the realization.

Remus tried to picture Hagrid at 13 but the bush of shaggy beard and hair had always been as iconic to the man as his size, in his memory. Taller than all the others, he was sure. So noticeably different. So obviously other. He took a bigger sip, this time.

“I was lucky ol’ Dumbledore was there to talk the Headmaster into me bein’ kept on as groundskeeper. ‘Spec there’d be no other place for me to find honest work, in those days. Maybe even these days.” Hagrid heaved a shrug and a sigh and sat back in his chair, which creaked. “He does that, don’ he?”

“He does.” He felt the other man’s gaze studying him and he found he could not meet it. The tilt of this conversation was too familiar and he knew where it was rolling. Something in him wanted to run. He took another drink instead.

“It hurt to come back, though. Know I wasn’t a part of it all anymore. Seein’ all the places in the castle I knew but not belonging to ‘em, feelin’ like I was outside o’ the whole thing. A place that was special.”

Remus knuckles were white around the bottom of the glass. He didn’t say anything.

“An’ bein’ a teacher–phwoar! Ye gotta look like you have it all in order when you don’ feel like ye do…mighty lonely.”

“Hagrid, you don’t have to–” he started, quietly.

“ _I just mean–_ ” Hagrid hurried on, loudly. “That yer not alone anymore, Lupin. Right’?”

Remus at last met his eyes and saw the kindness in them, the earnest push for him to open up. He took a deep breath, preparing to brush it aside, to smile, to agree and–

He stopped. Looked at Hagrid for a bit longer. His breath left him in a rush and he drank the rest of his glass. Set it back on the table and watched the film of liquid slowly slide back down to the bottom, clinging to the glass. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.” He said, softly.

Hagrid made an wordless, agreeable noise and said nothing, a prompt in itself. “There isn’t…the place that I left isn’t….” He was starting this wrong. Sitting back, he rubbed his face, hard.  _Is this a good idea,_  whispered through him once again, but, again, he ignored it. “Halloween is coming up.” It was blunt and plain, the way he said it, and he knew that Hagrid knew what it meant.

Indeed, he gave a small grunt that was half acknowledgement and half pain. “Yeah,” he answered, equally quietly.

“I usually…I usually try to forget. I don’t know, working, reading, anything just–so I don’t have to…think about it. But it’s…” He cast his eyes out the window. It framed the edge of the lake, the corner of the boughs of a tree that was whipping wildly in the wind. A few leaves wheeled crazily up, stuck, quivering inside the the harbor of the window pane a moment, then flapped themselves free and whisked away. He could hear it at the top of the chimney, whistling and moaning. “This place. And Sirius. And Harry. I could always pretend it happened to another me. A me that saw it…a me that was there, but not here. That was the Remus who couldn’t believe it, the Remus who had to figure out how to move on. I wasn’t that Remus; I lived alone, I worked alone, I…I….” He trailed off, sighed. “I’m not making sense.”

“Course ye are.”

The crackling of the fire filled the space between words until he could find them again. Hagrid just waited for him. “I see Harry and I think of James. And Lily. I think of all the Christmases and birthdays that  _should_ have been. I think of what Halloween should have meant. I just keep asking ‘why? Why?’ I think of Peter being the only one brave enough to try to ask that question. I remember them just…lying there, dead. And I think about  _him_ –” the absolute venom in his voice caught him off guard and he had to rake in his breath around the crush in his chest it caused. “And everything that we gave him. Everything  _I_ gave him and he tore it up and kills–he  _murdered_ them. He murdered my  _friends_ , my  _family_ –I have  _no one left-_ -”  _CONTROL_. He looked Hagrid in the eye and said, pleadingly. “I hate him. He meant so much to me and I  _hate_ him. He knew what they all were to me. He knew. How long was this coming, was I just  _stupid_? I should have seen this, I should have been watching.” His head dropped onto his hands and he gripped his hair. “I want him to die,” escaped him on a hiss, followed by an even more inaudible. “I want him to pay.”

As he fought to even his ragged breathing, he heard Fang give a whine from the corner.  _Calm yourself, boy_ , he thought, savagely, but Hagrid sighed. He said, gently, “We were all watching. We all missed it.”

Remus sat up, hand over his face as he breathed in. Out. In. Out. Calm. Calm down. He felt strangely empty after this confession; wrung out. His chest still ached and his throat was tight.

“I saw him, that night. Black. That Halloween, I mean.” Hagrid shook his head heavily and drained his tankard, pouring them each more. “Ev’ry year it just…” he looked down at his massive hands as if they were strange to him. “It eats me up that I didn’ put it together. Why I didn’ ask why he was there, why I didn’ wonder why he wanted to take Harry so bad.”

Remus’ stomach gave a sickening lurch. “He said that?”

Hagrid nodded, darkly. “Aye. I coulda got him then, held ‘im for the Ministry. Little Peter woulda….” He sighed again. “Dumbledore didn’ know, Remus. Dumbledore had all the pieces, far as we knew. Now, I know my opinion don’ really count for nothin’ but…far as I see it, lovin’ and trustin’ people mostly does more good than harm. Knowing Harry, he wouldn’ blame you neither.”

They were quiet again as Remus took this in, slowly. They both took a drink. Then, “You speak to him, then? Harry?”

Hagrid’s face, getting ruddier by the moment, split into a grin. “Oh sure. He an’ Ron an’ Hermione have stopped by since their firs’ year! Sharp as anything, those kids. Gotten ‘em into a fair amount o’ trouble, it has, too…” he added, a touch reproachful. “Too curious for their own good. Jus’ like some other students I may remember.” He twinkled at Remus over his tankard rim and, curiously, he felt himself redden.

“Ha, and maybe I do as well….”

“You remember that time, with the chairs, then?”

“Oh God,” Remus covered his face. “Yes.”

“So proud of learning that hover charm, James was,” Hagrid took on a tone of reminiscence. “Got ‘em all the way up to the tippy top o’ the tree. Claimed it was–”

“‘Practice.’” They both finished at once, Remus rolling his eyes.

“We didn’t do too many things out on the grounds, though, did we? We must not have, seeing how you don’t have the same, erm,  _emotional scars_  as Mr. Filch seems to…” Remus ventured, hopefully.

“Oh, but you did plenty.”

“Nooo,” Remus moaned softly, covering his face again, trying to hide his embarrassed chuckle. “Oooh, I don’t even want to know.”

“You all tried to ride the squid?”

“In our defense–!” Remus flung out a defensive finger. “That was on a dare. And we were first years.”

“Oh, firs’ years, is it?” Hagrid roared in laughter. “Somehow I managed t’make it past my firs’ year without tryin’ to harrass a protected an’ endangered magical creature!”

So it was that Remus found himself laughing with Hagrid into the evening, past even the time for dinner. Remus pointed at his now empty-again glass, accusingly. “This is a dirty trap.” He pointed out mildly and Hagrid grinned and nodded amiably.

“Yeah.”

They stayed in his hut and switched to tea eventually when Remus begged off more brandy, for he had class the next day. For the first time in a very long time, the brush of those memories didn’t just hurt. They still did, most certainly. But there was also joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a cheery Les Mis reference am I right??


	18. Visitation Fortification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McGonagall and Harry need a heart to heart with a certain Professor.

“‘Scuse me,” Remus said incredulously, looking up from his grading to reach out and draw his bowl of chocolate closer to him from across the desk. “1 each.”

George Weasley batted his eyelashes at him innocently, putting a hand to his chest. “But I have–”

“I think, not, George. You were up here before.”

“I’m not George, I’m Fred!”

Remus smiled blandly at him, not moving the bowl any closer to the other side of the desk. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, _George_?”

“I was just getting one for Percy!” He protested, grinning.

“What a devoted brother you are. Percy can just come and get it himself and you’ll have to find another way to show your familial devotion.”

“Curses, foiled again!” George shook his fist in mock frustration, reshouldered his bag, and grinned. “You’re ruining Halloween for all of the children, Professor.”

Remus nodded indulgently. “Somehow, I will survive. Have a good day, George.”

Fred, waiting by the door, shook his head in exaggerated disappointment at his twin and they followed the flow of people out of the classroom. Remus shook his head, smiling, and went back to grading the Redcap essays as the late morning light slanted in from the high windows of the classroom. Those boys reminded him of James and Sirius. The part of the Weasley clan that he had in his classroom seemed to be a delight; the twins were always trying to pull something and, one of these days, he was tempted to actually let them succeed. Ron was funnier than he let on and quicker than he seemed to think as he was often overshadowed by the absolutely brilliant Hermione. Ginny, as he learned the red headed girl from the train was called, was sharp as a tack and seemed absolutely ravenous for any information on defense. He made sure that he kept a close eye on her; he knew past trauma when he saw it. Lastly, Percy was the quietest and most studious seeming of all of them but Remus had seen him brandish his prefect badge with gleeful authority in the halls that made him hide a smile. Quite the cast of characters. It made him grateful that Harry seemed to be surrounded by such a warm, familial presence, that he wasn’t moving through this world as isolated as Remus had feared.

A soft knock on the door broke through his thoughts and he looked up, half expecting to have to defend his chocolate stash from further interlopers but, to his surprise, Professor McGonagall was standing in his doorway. “Oh! Professor,” he stood and gestured to the room. “Come in, what can I do for you?”

“I was hoping to catch you before you left for lunch,” she came up to his desk and, strangely, looked out the window.

He watched her a moment, slowly followed her gaze, found nothing of interest, and looked back to her. Her jaw was working, clenching and unclenching and he realized that she was searching for words. Fascinated, a little daunted, he sank back down into his chair and placed his folded hands on the desk before him, waiting.

“I wanted to apologize, Lupin, for the other day.”

He stared at her, blankly, wracking his memory for something that she would have to be sorry for. To his knowledge, they hadn’t even had a personal conversation of any length since he had come back to Hogwarts. Plenty when he had been a student, most of which had began with, ‘What on  _earth_ do you think you boys are  _doing_?’ A few from the War and the Order of the Phoenix which, funnily enough, had often started the same way. “Er…I don’t understand.”

She took a breath and turned away from the window to look at him, focused on him sharply. “What Severus said the other day…I was too stunned to interfere at first and then I saw your face…. I deemed the highest priority to separate you 2 before anything else and…the more I’ve thought about it, the more I realize it was not the best decision. I should not have let that happen. Whatever personal feelings Severus might have toward you, purposely goading another Professor is improper conduct and highly unprofessional, and I have felt that it is a matter that has been left unresolved. I’ve expressed my feelings on the matter to Professor Snape himself and then I wanted to let you know that I regret how that day came to pass.” After this was finished, she folded her hands in front of her and watched him expectantly.

Stunned, it was his turn to search for words, opening his hands palm up on his desk. “Ah…well…thank you. Apology accepted, but…I must say unneeded. It’s not your job to…break up childish squabbles between adults.”

“You’re not living alone any longer, Remus, there is a code of ethics that must be upheld,” she said dryly, raising an ironic eyebrow.

“I suppose so.” He returned a slight smile. “I also shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

“Ludicrous,” she scoffed and he blinked. “He was being intentionally inflammatory and I, myself, was appalled. I knew you boys,” she went on, angrily. “I knew them too. Unwarranted. Cruel.” A bit self-consciously, she sniffed, straightened her glasses, and cleared her throat, drawing herself up once more. “I just wanted it in the open air. I didn’t want you thinking…well, that I took any stock in what he said, what with the anniversary coming up and all.”

“Well…I thank you.”

She nodded briskly, then seemed to hesitate. “If…If Harry Potter should come ‘round, I think it best he stay within the castle.”

He must have looked lost, for she elaborated. “The poor boy couldn’t get his Muggle family to sign his Hogsmeade permission slip and he’s been hounding me for permission. Despite the fact that I am not his guardian, but he’s nothing if not optimistic. Even if he could go, I think it best with the current dementor and Black situation that he not go. So, if he should come looking for permission from you, I would think it wise to not indulge him.”

His chest hurt to think that he might even resemble anything close to a guardian for the boy. “I’m…flattered, Professor. But Harry has no idea who I am. To him, at least. It’s…I feel that it’s best to not complicate things. I am not the safest or most reliable adult ally one could have, after all,” he added a bit darkly. “But, in any case; I agree. It’s safer.”

“Lord knows he doesn’t seem to be taking it too hard, this whole “imminent doom” nonsense.” She made a face. “Sibyll is inflicting her yearly death prediction on the boy. Of all times. Seeing death in everything from tea leaves to mouse droppings, I’d bet. Soon, she’ll be seeing omens in his choice of breakfast food. Still doesn’t dissuade him from wanting to venture out. I can’t tell if it’s youthful courage or merely ignorance in the scope of his situation. Ah, well, you should be grading and I should be preparing for class.” She gave him a brisk nod and exited.

The morning of Halloween dawned brisk and clear and he lay an extra few minutes in bed, staring at the ceiling. 12 years ago to the day. Tentatively, he tested the strangeness of what seemed to be a shared awareness of this occasion; McGonagall and Hagrid’s mention of it had awakened him to the realization that this was not altogether a private grieving. It was not as if he thought no one else loved the Potter’s and Peter, he had just never had anyone to share it with. He had only ever had to brace himself, alone, against the current of costumed children and festive cheer that seemed to linger in the air. The full moon being only a handful of days away did not help to lighten the clinging, dull weight that seemed ready to be donned with the rest of his clothes.

With a most unpleasant jolt, he realized as he was layering a sweater under his robe, that this was the first time that Sirius’ Halloween would be different than it had been the last dozen years as well. The thought made him pause and meet his own eyes in the mirror. The man that stared back at him was not as thin as he had been a few months ago, but there was a darkness about his eyes, a haunted look on his solemn face. What had sparked this difference between their gazes, these men who knew Lily and James? One was a searing madness, the other a gaunt shadow. How could this one calamity forge such opposite beings?

What was he doing right now? His eyes wandered to the window overlooking the forest, aflame with reds and oranges and yellows, impenetrable. Somewhere beyond, Sirius drew closer. It wasn’t until his knuckles gave a twinge of protest that he realized his fists were clenched where they had halted while situating his robe. Deliberately, he opened them and finished dressing to go wait in his office for the Grindylow he was expecting today.

As he waited, soberly grading more essays, he felt a brush against his ankle and pushed back from his desk with a start. Sitting unapologetically beneath his desk and blinking up at him slowly from a great, squashed face, was a huge orange cat. He stared at it a moment and it stared back, calmly, tail curled around itself. “Well…hello.”

In response, it leapt up, onto his lap and began kneading at his thigh with tiny sharp pinpricks of claw through his robe and pants. Startled, he held his hands away for a moment, then, carefully, scratched it behind it’s ear. It began thrumming immediately, flopped onto his lap and closed it’s eyes. “Well, then.” It made him crack a small smile. Usually, animals could sense or smell the predator that lurked within him and avoided him at all costs. Apparently, not so for this cat. He returned to marking homework, but with his solemnity a little bit lighter.

It was quiet, that day, most upperclassmen visiting Hogsmeade and the rest presumably having a lazy day relaxing or doing homework. In the distance, one could hear the occasional creak-thump of a door and once or twice, he heard Filch mutter-sweeping by his door. Eventually, unfortunately, when the grindylow delivery arrived, he had had to carefully depose the cat, who had mrowed at him reproachfully and stalked out, bushy tail held high in protest. The indignance made him chuckle.

He was inspecting the tank and checking the supply list for the grindylow that he and Hagrid had gone over a few weeks previous when a figure glumly slumped by his door with a familiarity that it caught his attention. “Harry?”

As he went to peer around the door, he saw the boy reversing slowly to slog back over to him. He looked absolutely miserable. “What are you doing? Where are Hermione and Ron?” Of all days, it was difficult to look Harry in the face with James’ expressions and Lily’s gaze.  _It’s just Harry. You wanted to be free of your past, let him have the same right. It’s just him_.

The boy shrugged, obviously attempting nonchalant a he said, “Hogsmeade.”

Poor lad. “Ah,” he answered and scanned Harry’s despondent face and wilted stance.  _A day without friends for the both of us, is it?_  He came to a sudden decision. “Why don’t you come in? I’ve just taken delivery of a grindylow for our next lesson.”

It seemed to be inertia rather than any real interest, but Harry obediently fell in behind Remus. “A what?”

The conversation and tea were more fruitful than he had anticipated, given the boy’s mood. Harry seemed to feel comfortable questioning him and Remus was only too happy to oblige. Honestly, the more time he spent with him, the more he wished he would ask Remus for something, anything. _I don’t have much, but what I do, I would give to you, if you required it._ This child deserved nothing less, after what the world has already put him through. He was revealing himself to be thoughtful, brave, and eager to prove himself as they spoke more and Remus could not help the pride that blossomed again in his chest, though he had had no part in shaping who he had become.  _So proud…._  Even the brief drop in from Severus didn’t ruin the visit. He was still smiling slightly, after Harry left.


	19. Halloween Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Difficult anniversaries are never easy, but tonight is a special kind of bad.

Food was getting dodgy for his stomach as the moon expanded itself by slivers, tugging ever harder at the wolf, but he still managed to enjoy some of the feast. He felt himself dimming, bit by bit as the exact hour of the decade old betrayal crept ever closer. Flitwick, seated next to him, seemed to notice this and engaged him warmly in conversation. “So, being a Professor hasn’t worn you thin, has it, Lupin?”

“Hah, not that I had noticed. Unless you’ve realized something I haven’t,” he added and held his hand between them, as if checking it’s translucence. The little man’s vigor had always been oddly infectious.

Flitwick laughed out loud. “No, getting even more solid, I’d say. Any stand out students?”

He thought a moment, then hid a smile. “There are indeed a few, but maybe one that stands out a little farther than some, in some respects.”

“Granger is indeed a very bright child.”

“A Ravenclaw, actually, and I was thinking more of standing out in a crowd….”

“Ah, so you’ve met Miss Lovegood!”

They chatted amiably about her unique presence and accessories, then the food, which Professor Sprout joined, then the Quidditch cup and ended meandering onto the topic of bookshops before the ghost’s Halloween performance interrupted them. Remus called quits soon after dinner when he checked the time and realized with a start that the hour of Lily and James’ murder had quietly come and gone. He hadn’t been quite sure what he would have done in any case; stand at attention? Throw himself upon his armchair in a faint? But to have it pass by so unseen…

He was rising to leave when a Gryffindor student came barreling back into the Hall and charged up to the staff table, gasping. “Professor Dumbledore, come quick!” The uncertain fear in her voice prompted the remaining Professors to hurriedly rise as well and Remus found himself beside Snape and McGonagall, following Dumbledore’s long, swift strides.

The crowd at the end of the corridor to the Gryffindor Common Room parted and Remus and McGonagall exchanged a look of concern before it became apparent what the backup was. “What in the name of–” she gasped and Remus just stared in confusion. Shreds of the Fat Lady’s portrait hung off in ribbons and bits of the actual frame we’re scattered about, some of them a ways down the hall. She was gone. This seemed too savage for a prank, too thorough to be an accident. The faces of students turned to them in a wave, each reflecting fear, doubt, uncertainty, questions.

Dumbledore was already there, already looking to them as they approached with a grave expression. “We need to find her. Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr. Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady.”

She nodded, but before Dumbledore could continue, Remus felt the breeze from something brush by his head and the unpleasantly delighted voice of Peeves caroled, “You’ll be lucky!”

All eyes turned to him and Dumbledore said, easily. “What do you mean, Peeves?”

The poltergeist deflated a bit at his direct attention, but answered in a simpering voice, “Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn’t want to be seen. She’s a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful.” His grin widened malevolently. “Poor thing.”

Remus looked back to Dumbledore’s face, which, for the moment, was unreadable. “Did she say who did it?” He probed

“Oh yes, Professorhead. He got very angry when she wouldn’t let him in, you see.”

Something in Remus was dawning, very slow and cold.  _No_ …

“Nasty temper he’s got, that Sirius Black.”

Several things happened at once; the corridor erupted into gasps and whispers, Dumbledore turned back to the students and began to speak, and Remus abruptly couldn’t feel his body. It was like he was watching the scene from behind a sheet of glass. He couldn’t hear what Dumbledore said, though he knew he ought to, knew it was important. He somehow maneuvered his numb limbs so his back was to the wall to let through the Headmaster guiding the mass of students back up the hall, back down to the feast area. “–will search the castle—” drifted through his awareness as Dumbledore passed and he forced himself to nod, once, slowly.

Here. He was here.  _Harry_ , something whispered urgently.  _Where’s HARRY_ – but his eyes found his shocked face in the crowd, locked onto him until he disappeared around the corner.  _Safe. For now. He’s HERE._

His eyes found the portrait again, in a daze, and he stared, mind finding the outline of a man where there wasn’t one. _Standing right there. Yards away. Years away…_

Something stepped into his field of vision and he blinked, finding Snape leveling his wand at him, face a rictus snarl. He was saying something. Remus merely looked at him, uncomprehending. Severus seized his lapel in his fist and repeated it, but this time, there was a dark, deep uncoiling somewhere in his chest. “Don’t.” He warned, quietly.

Sounds were trickling back, sensation, warmth–Snape gave him a shake and began to hiss, “ _You_ –”– emotions.

His hands came up as a dangerous rage surged through him and he shoved Snape away, staggering him back several steps. “ _Don’t_.” He repeated harshly, eyes blazing.

They stayed for several moments, glaring at each other, breathing hard. “I  _said_ ,” Snape snarled. “What did you  _do_?”

“Are you insane?”

“There is no way Black could have entered the castle without help. No way.” His chest heaved. “You’ve blown your own cover and everyone is going to see you for the monster you are, and–”

“Monster I may be, but I have nothing to do with this!”

“Lies,” Snape hissed, eyes gleaming madly. “How did you hide him from the Dementors?”

 _“I have nothing to do with this!”_  Remus roared. “Do not push me right now, Severus.” Wolfsbane potion or not, this close to the full moon, he could feel a fury searing through him that felt dangerously uncontained. His jaw ached.

Snape sneered, “You think because you–” he took a step forward and without even thinking, Remus whipped out his wand in return, leveling it right back at him. His hands were shaking.

“I told you.  _Don’t_.” He breathed.  Today of all days…of all days….Thoughts and memories whirled in his mind and he couldn’t quite seem to catch his breath. Snape seemed to see some sort of wildness in his eyes and stopped, regarding him warily, lip curled in contempt. “Search the castle.” Remus said finally, lowering his wand but not pocketing it. “Whatever you think of me…at this moment, I do not care. But if he  _is_ still here, Harry is in danger. All the students are. Appeal to Dumbledore later, it doesn’t matter to me. Just find him.”

“I will,” Snape murmured warningly and Remus felt a snarl twist his own face.

“Good.”

He turned on his heel and stalked down the hall without turning back. Rooms passed in a blur as he searched through them at speed, wand at the ready, always. Dark and bare, filled with empty desks, storage equipment, broom cupboards. The numb shock of the news and restlessness of the past few days had boiled over into a thrumming through his limbs, a hunting focus to his gaze; he almost hoped Sirius was still here. He did. He did hope he was here. He wanted to find him. One of his knuckles sent a sharp spark of pain up his arm, he gripped his wand so tight. The discussion with Hagrid welled up in him and he swiped his wand savagely, closing a door with a slam behind him. He wanted to be the one to make him pay.

Deep within him was a wailing protest at the murderous rage that seemed to be powering him now, a bone deep fear at this off the rails energy. Damn Snape for cornering him. Damn himself for letting it spiral out of control in a way he hadn’t since he was first bitten.  _Control_. Damn Sirius for a traitor, a coward, a goddamn murderer. Coming for Harry on the anniversary of his own, gut-wrenching betrayal. To finish his final act of ruination. Damn him,  _damn_ him. Floors upon doors, doors upon floors went by and nothing, nothing,  _nothing_. Sprout passed him by and asked, “Anything?”

“Nothing.” His voice low and rough. Nothing.

She took him in in a doubtful glance but continued on her way. Midnight passed. November 1st. Searching, still. Each empty room fed a mounting, unsated ember in his chest. He checked the nooks and crannies only they knew. He checked the passages they had all found together. His jaw was clenched hard enough that it felt like there was a band around his temples, squeezing. Snape passed him on the way up from the Dungeons and Remus pointedly ignored him. Dumbledore met him outside the Great Hall that sounded like it held a small windstorm from the susurrations of the student’s whispers. He looked somber, but calm. It dropped a small kernel of soothing deep into the center of him and he felt as if he were taking his first deep breath of the night. “Nothing, I expect?” The Headmaster asked him in a low voice.

“No. Nothing.”

He nodded, silver beard shining in the torchlight and he peered at Remus closely. “Go to bed, Remus.”

“I can still search–”

Dumbledore shook his head firmly, lips pressed together. “No. What’s best for you right now is being alone, I think.”

Remus stared at him in frustration. “Sir–”

“ _Professor_.” His voice was not loud, but it was as unwavering as it was calm. The longer he met Dumbledore’s intense blue eyes and the longer the murmurings and hissing whispers of the students beyond washed over him, the more they grounded him; pulled him back down fully into his own self and his own control. His shoulders sagged and he rubbed his face; his headache only grew.

“Yessir,” he agreed quietly. Every inch of him, inside and out, felt like a wet rag that had been wrung mercilessly but he had to know…. “Albus…I had nothing to do with this. I would…never.”

For one nauseating second, Dumbledore was quiet, but he reached out a hand to Remus’ shoulder. “I know,” he answered, just as softly.

Remus nodded. In his room, he locked his door and sank down next to it, head in his hands, shaking.


	20. Deep on the Rooftop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has felt this way before....

The following day was…hard.

All anyone was talking about was Sirius. Remus felt as if he were worn thin. Fraying. That fury from the night before was mostly doused by lack of sleep and the morning Wolfsbane potion, but it still lurked deep inside, still smoldering secretly. Every time he heard the name Sirius Black, it would lurch in his chest, followed by an intense swell of revulsion and shame. It hadn’t just been the wolf that fueled him, last night. It had been his own rage, his own murderous intent that had shown it’s face last night and every time he looked into the face of a student, it just seemed to reflect that fact back at him. They were curious, afraid, excited at the anticipation of adventure.  _Our own paths didn’t diverge as far as I might have thought, apparently. Not if I had my way….We would both be murderers._

It seemed to be a mirror of the day that Sirius had been apprehended, finally, all those years ago. Something terrible had come to pass. And where had he been? What had he done?  _Did you have better things to do?_

The week plodded on. The weather worsened along with his mood, against his best efforts. He dutifully took his potion, but the moon, ever heavier, seemed to hang from his shoulders, weigh down every thought until he was practically slogging near the end of the week. His Thursday morning 5th year Hufflepuffs seemed to sense something was off, because one of the girls raised her hand and tentatively asked, “Are you alright, sir? You seem….” She trailed off, eyebrows pinched worriedly. There were a few murmurs of agreement.

A complicated twisting happened somewhere at his center, warmth at the concern, guilt at affecting the students with his private matters, frustration at himself for not being able to pull it together.  _Useless_. He forced a smile and replied, “I am, thank you. I think I may just be over tired.”

This seemed to placate them and no more was said on the matter, for which he was grateful. It felt as if the color were draining from him and he wasn’t quite sure how much longer he could fake it.  _It seems you don’t need Dementors to sabotage your own happiness,_  came nastily across his mind, but even the self deprecating jab fell flat. Everything felt…heavy. Smiles. Words. Thoughts. He nearly sagged with relief when the class period finished and the students filed out, chatting. Leaning back his head, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to try to relieve the headache the was trying to reignite itself above his eyes. It was when he heard the Sirius’ name mentioned in hushed, eager undertone and no flare of anything happened within his gut that a small, insistent alarm bell started to go off.  _This is…not good._

He opened his eyes. The classroom was empty, gray, overcast light washing the room with it’s pale light. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The muddle of voices passed in a current outside his open door, washing over him like so much meaningless fog.  _No, not good._

_“Hey.”_

Long ago, Remus had been sitting on the lip of the Astronomy Tower roof, knees pulled up to his chest, staring out across the slate gray lake. He had looked over and down to see Lily poking her head out past the eaves, deep red hair catching the breeze. Words sat like so much lead in his throat, so he just watched her silently. At the lack of any protest, she carefully maneuvered herself out of the windowsill and up, crawling until she was level with him, letting out a puff of exertion as she planted herself next to him. Once the chances of her slipping were past, he switched back to staring out across the lawn. Down on the ground, it wouldn’t have been windy, but up at the peak of one of the tallest towers, there was a constant current that tugged at the hems of their robes. It kept pulling switches of Lily’s hair across her face, swaying the tops of dark pine trees below their feet. It smelled of far off places, of rain somewhere across the mountains.

Once she wrestled her long hair into a rough bun at the nape of her neck, she turned and watched his profile silently, chin in her hand. It was like it was a well of nothing inside him; no frustration at her intrusion or embarrassment to just sit with her watching him, no need to fill the whistling silence with social niceties. It was just as remote and empty as the far off rooftop they were sitting on. When he said nothing, she pulled up one knee and laced her fingers around it, dangling the other over the roof edge, the sole of her shoe sailing to and fro high, high above the rolling lawn below.  _“Whatcha doing?”_

For her sake, he pushed the stone up the hill, opened his mouth and said.  _“Sitting.”_

She made a face that signaled impending sarcasm, but seemed to twist her lips around it and nod. _“Hm. Any reason?”_

Tiny shrug. Too high up to stand. She, too, looked out at the lake and trees, then seemed to cast her gaze out even further.  _“James and Sirius are worried.”_

He closed his eyes and put his chin onto his knees.

_“They said you won’t tell them what’s wrong.”_

_Because nothing is. Just everything._

_“Is it okay if I talk?”_

He shrugged again, then managed to shift himself enough to nod. She deserved that much.

 _“I know…well, I was about to say, I know it can be hard but, I really don’t, do I? I may have shitty things going on and so may everyone else but that doesn’t help you, does it?”_ Lily sighed, and looked down at her leg, swinging it once, hard, so it thunked the underside of the eaves and then kicked it level with them until it dropped down again.  _“It’s sorta scary up here.”_  She said lightly.  _“You planning anything?”_

Remus thought a moment, then shook his head, chin scraping against his knee.

_“Well, that’s good. Can I ask if it’s anything specific bothering you? Did something happen?”_

Again, he shook his head, eyes still closed.

_“Not werewolf stuff?”_

Shrug.

_“Graduation stuff?”_

Smaller shrug.

_“Sorta…everything stuff?”_

He took in a slow, deep breath and when it shuddered out again, he opened his eyes and turned his cheek to his knee to make eye contact with her; as if he could communicate clearer that way. Lily obliged him and met his eyes with her bright green ones, pulling up her own knees and laying down her head to mimic his posture.

_“Are you fighting with your brain?”_

The corner of his lip twitched slightly. Apt. Not much of a fight; more…drowning in.

_“Honey…wizards are dumb as shit.”_

An incredulous snort broke free from him at that. “ _What?”_  His voice was rough with disuse.

 _“You guys can make pictures move and turn rats into coffee mugs but actually talking about feelings is apparently just a huge mystery. Sometimes, your brain can just DO stuff. Shitty stuff. Like make you scared or sad or…nothing, for no reason. I guess it can feel scary because it seems like you shouldn’t feel that way cause it SEEMS like there’s no reason but…”_  She stopped and just looked at him for a while. An owl hooted somewhere below them and drifted out, around the trees, and receded to a speck over the Forest. A gust of wind that slipped down the neck of his jumper made him shiver involuntarily. _“I guess…if I wanted you to know something, it would be that…it’s okay, you know? It’s not fun, and it’s not great but…you’re not BAD for feeling like this, right? You know that?”_

He shut his eyes and turned his face into his knees, feeling the folds of his pants poking at his eyelids.

 _“So…you’ve got people who love you, and who will love you, no matter what. Hey–”_  she reached out and tugged his hair gently but insistently until he raised his head obediently and looked at her.  _“You would do the same for any of us. Let’s get off this roof and see if Madame Pomfrey has something. I’m gonna be your fairy god-butt-kicker. I’m gonna annoy the hell out of you. Cause you deserve help and you deserve to feel good again. Right?”_ When he didn’t answer, she tugged a little harder. _“Riiight?”_

He sighed and shrugged with a small smile. Lily seemed to take it as a victory in any case, because she let go and nodded, as if they had agreed on something.  _“Okay, good. Now…show me how to get off this damn roof so I don’t fall and break all of my bones.”_

 _People need you,_  she would occasionally remind him, afterward and he had never thought it true before. But it echoed up from the well in the center of him, now;  _People need you._

I _f only to grade their papers_ , something in him agreed tonelessly and a voice that was James to him muttered,  _Take what you can get, I guess._

He rose to go find Dumbledore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lily's first entrace is a kicker ;-;  
> I love her.


	21. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is not so good at this.

Remus made it as far as the staffroom before his joints and muscles started to seriously protest. 

The full moon was tomorrow, and the ache was an ever present hum in the center of his marrow. It wasn’t helped by his state of mind;  who knew that the weight of one’s own thoughts could be so physically heavy? He leaned against the wall for a minute, intending to poke his head in and ask if anyone had seen the Headmaster what the man himself ambled around the corner. “Ah, Professor….”

Dumbledore looked up from his thoughts, eyes lighting on him. “Good morning, Remus!” He then frowned, looking him up and down. “Are you quite alright?”

“Yes, sir–” _Don’t lie, you’ve come to talk to the man_. “Well… I’ve been better. Do you have a moment?”

“I have several of them and all of them can be yours, for the time being. How can I help you?”

Remus opened his mouth and it seemed like his mind guttered out like a candle; entirely blank. How did one ask for help when you had no practice? There were a few moments where Dumbledore simply waited and Remus closed his mouth, staring back in growing chagrin. Strangely, a small smile tweaked at the corner of Dumbledore’s beard and he inclined his head down the hall. “Why don’t you walk with me, Remus?”

He did not particularly feel like walking, or particularly like he  _could_ walk, but obediently fell into step beside him. Dumbledore seemed to understand the need for a sedate pace and settled on an easy stroll as he considered their surroundings. They walked slowly in a silence, occasional windows opening out to the view of dark, angry thunderheads over the Quidditch pitch and Remus began to grow frustrated with himself. Now that he was here and Dumbledore was next to him, he found he just couldn’t bring himself to tell the Headmaster–and tell him what?  _Thank you for hiring me, I’m falling apart for no reason, can’t you see how grateful I am?_  Or even worse;  _I feel nothing. Please fix it._  He was beginning to feel thoroughly sick of his internal landscape.

“Sir…why did you hire me?”

The question seemed to surprise them both, for, as far as Remus knew, he never actually intended to pry into the reasons at all. It felt too much like it was an optical illusion and if he looked to hard at it, things would begin to not add up and he wasn’t sure he could take it if Dumbledore felt the same way as well. “Hmm. Why do you ask?”

“I’m not…sure. I don’t have any past qualifications and I can’t think of anything I did at school that really showed any sort of…promise. Or ‘exemplary moral character’,” the words of Lucius Malfoy from months ago in Diagon Alley parroted out of his mouth easily. “I…always figured you would want to keep track of me, to make sure I didn’t reconnect with Sirius.”

The Headmaster was quiet for a time and Remus miserably watched tapestries and doorways, stained glass windows and staircases slide slowly by over the surface of his mind, never truly registering as they continued to wherever Dumbledore was roaming. Before he did finally speak, Remus was thoroughly regretting ever bringing it up. “I cannot pretend that recent events did not cause me to consider you for the role but to say that I doubted your loyalty is far from true. I believe that you are an integral part to this story that’s being played out, currently, and I felt it somehow important that you be present for it. And that you showed no exemplary character while a student in these halls, I find, frankly, a bit mind boggling for you to say. You are a very intelligent man, Remus, and you had a knack for managing your friends and showing your kindness and strength of heart. You do not possess an easy path in this world, but you walk it with surprising dignity and warmth.”

He looked sideways at Remus, speared him with his gaze. “I have a great respect for you, my boy. Now,” he looked round and where they had stopped on a landing and Remus realized they were standing outside the Hospital Wing. “If you still wish to talk with me after you’ve spent some time with Poppy, I would be more than happy to meet you in my office, where I will be attending to some tedious but necessary paperwork. However, I have reason to believe that this may be something that she may be able to provide you with better finesse than I could ever hope.” He smiled and this time, Remus seemed to feel it, if only a stirring of the warmth, deep in his chest. “You’re doing well,” he said gently, and was gone. It struck him then that it hadn’t been James and Sirius and Peter who had accepted him as he was first; it had been Dumbledore.

It took a few minutes of silence, but, eventually, he entered and found Madame Pomfrey making beds as rain began tapping at the high windows. She looked up as she heard the door, but didn’t speak once she scanned his face; she just waited.

Remus took a deep breath. “Help. Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's called basic self care, ya dingus.


	22. Waning Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: all of the dialogue in the second half is directly from the book, but from Remus' perspective!

“Alright.” She straightened and turned a desk chair about, gesturing to it. He made his way over, slowly, and sat while she gave him a quick once over, then she sat on a bed across from him. “What brings you in today, Remus?”

“Lily.” He answered truthfully. It was supposed to come out wry, but he feared his tone was merely dull.

Poppy froze a moment and he could see her looking at him, hard, searching her memory. Then, she relaxed. “Ah. I see.”

Rising, she wove around him and he watched as she bustled around the room, collecting things from shelves, the windowsill in her office. “I believe Miss Evans would be thrilled that she’s compelling you to take care of yourself from beyond the grave. Here,” she dropped a hunk of chocolate the size of a bludger in his hand in passing. “Gnaw on that. I’m not surprised this is happening now, to be honest. There can sometimes be side effects from the Wolfsbane potion that we are not fully aware of, as it’s so new. And I know that this close to the moon tends to catch you in a low mood anyhow.” She put the back of her hand to his forehead. “Is there anything else that might be contributing?”

Remus watched the chocolate as he slowly passed it from hand to hand to keep it from melting. “Sunday was Halloween. With Sirius and…” he trailed off.

“Heavens, it was, wasn’t it?” A look of reluctant enlightenment crossed her face before she shook herself and slowly moved her wand tip around his head, checking her watch. “Well…I’m glad that you’re coming in for help. Eat,” she added, warningly. “It’ll help.”

He almost protested that he hadn’t even been near the Dementors when the memory of Neville doing the same thing in his office surfaced accusatorily and, guiltily, he started in on it.

He left the Hospital Wing an hour later full of chocolate, empty of words, and with a strict order to rest the day of the full moon. Poppy seemed to think that something like a perfect storm had happened with certain side effects of the Wolfsbane potion, the impending Change, the happenings of Halloween, and his own depression. She had packed him off a Cheering Elixir, that he had been convinced to take once she had invoked the reminder of his status–Professor. “And what would you tell one of your students to do, hm?” Yes. He needed to be able to function.

Over the course of the rest of the day, the edge of the nothing pit softened into a slightly more manageable melancholy. The storming rose to a pitch, rattling the windows with the wind and crashes of thunder. The day of the full moon was rough, painful, and nauseating but it always was. He pushed through. The Change was literally bone breaking and soul wrenching, but…it always was. There was nothing else to do but press on. He dutifully took his small armada of potions Madame Pomfrey had assigned him over the course of the year.

Waking up became incrementally easier over the next few days and the presence of other people gradually became more welcome. The storms had cleared after the day of the Change and pale sunlight was seeping in the windows, heralding the cold turnover from autumn to winter. He had been invited to tea with Hagrid again–who assured him that it was tea, this time–and he was slightly pleased with himself that he accepted. Once again, Hagrid managed to make him smile a bit, and fed him some home baking, which proved to be…a task to ingest. But he managed. Mostly. A pity Fang was so afraid of him, he would have bribed him under the table with the food to help him finish it.

He attended the mandatory staff meeting where Dumbledore briefed all who were not present at the Quidditch match that had gone horribly wrong; Dementor invasion, Harry falling off his broom from the sky, his broomstick smashed against the Whomping Willow.  _How can this boy hope to gain an education when he’s being assaulted constantly?_  The other Professor’s expressed their concern, confusion and outrage at their strange behavior. Apparently, the Dementors had been itching to come closer to the castle, having been relegated to the entrances and very outskirts of the grounds, far from any sort of joy or human emotion. They were growing impatient. They were growing hungry. The cold, expressionless fury that sat like a chill mirror behind Dumbledore’s normally warm eyes as he relayed the tale shook Remus. He knew that Dumbledore was a great wizard, more powerful even than Voldemort but rarely was he ever reminded quite so blatantly; there was a force to his anger that was undeniable. He almost felt sorry for the Dementors. But not quite.

It tightened his chest to know that the Dementors’ affects overwhelmed Harry so totally. Voldemort, Sirius, the Dementors; he was under attack so consistently that it was a wonder that the boy had any courage or trust at all. But he had seen him laughing with his friends, showing keen attention in classes, resisting digs from bullies.  _Speaking of_ ….Dumbledore had informed him that Snape had covered his missed day and he had had to contain his grimace at what that would mean for his… _opinionated_ Gryffindor class. He hoped that Neville had fared alright. He hoped that Harry hadn’t had too hard of a time. Longing to support and help the boy was an ache that felt deeper than his bones; he felt it as keenly as he felt the chill after the Change, as he always did. But fear, doubt, and the knowledge that he was not worthy as a guardian to this boy kept him back, at arms length. What could Remus offer him that he did not have in Hogwarts and Dumbledore? He was a stranger, a man who held a fragment of his past that had been…absent. What claim did he have to any hope for the boy’s trust?

Stoutly, he stifled the impending backwards slide into despair and stoked a fire in his office. He returned to his rooms to let the heat collect while he searched for layers to don while he waited for his afternoon class. As he was digging through his clothes, his fingers hooked into something soft and he hesitated, then carefully drew it out. It was a long, faun-colored scarf, slightly pilled and worn, but still thick. Peter had given it to him, long ago, after he had noticed Remus’ tendency to bundle up after the full moon. His round face had flushed a bit as he admitted that he had knit it himself, that his mum had taught him. Remus ran his thumb over it, staring down sightlessly. Peter.

He always seemed to be slightly eclipsed in Remus’ memory; eager, short, quietly kind, but always elbowed back by the powerful personalities of James and Sirius. It had been him that had pushed for them to include Peter more, when he had seen the boy lurking wistfully at the fringes of their group. He knew what it was to be alone. To be outside. He never wanted that for anyone else. Poor Peter. Even his death was slightly over-shadowed by the sudden, shocking tragedy of Lily and James’s murder the previous day. An afterthought. But he of all people had been the one to find Sirius, to confront him, had shown his true courage at last and had been horribly slaughtered for it. Blasted apart with a street full of innocent people. The memory of Peter was always shaded with regret;  _I should have done more_. More time should have been spent with him, spent on his memory, his sacrifice.

 _You have this opportunity to do something, now_ , something in him warned. _Do not waste it._

No one should be alone. He would talk to Harry.

A few hours later, he reluctantly stopped soaking in the warmth of his fire and set himself up at his desk in the classroom. Happily, something in him seemed to have woken up and shaken off even more of the cloying weight of the previous week, for his smile as the first few students poked their heads in was genuine. Every entrance to the classroom seemed to be preceded by a strange, furtive peeking around the door frame and it took him a while to realize that they might have been expecting Professor Snape again. He then made sure to stay in full view of the doorway, after that. When it seemed everyone had taken their seats, he cast a smile around at them and it was like a bomb detonated, for everyone started to clamor and complain all at once. Through the storm of noise he gathered that Severus had been, well, Severus, and that he had skipped forward to lessons on werewolves.

At that, a cold wash went through him and he felt the smile drop from his face. With a great deal of control, he wrestled the sudden, overwhelming panic that was trying to run rampant through him. He saw only indignance, anger, and relief in the faces across from him. No suspicion, no disgust, no distrust. No one knew. No one guessed. As he was sure was Snape’s plan.  _I cannot believe…2 rolls of parchment on how to best kill me. And you intended me to have to read them all…give them feedback on their technique…. James and Lily’s son….Frank and Alice…._

He shook himself. Pain was nothing if not familiar. With difficulty, he schooled his face into what resembled vague bemusement. “Did you tell Professor Snape we haven’t covered them yet?”

The wave of noise that followed told him what he already knew. Yes, they had, yes he had known, yes, he had done it completely on purpose. Well. Unlike some people, Remus knew how to be a goddamn professional. He smiled around at them. “Don’t worry. I’ll speak to Professor Snape. You don’t have to do the essay.”

He doubted he would, actually. What Severus would want most, besides a student revolt calling for his blood, was to know that he had shaken Remus. And that, he would not give him, not for anything. Best to let him think that he had stoically graded their murder scenarios and handed them back with praise. It was a knowledge that they needed, no doubt, but he needed to steel himself before going over the topic. He would not let that be taken away; he would do this in his own time. As the class progressed, the dread that had taken dark root in him gradually faded and he fell back into the rhythm of teaching. The students were eager and bright, the topic and specimen hinkypunk interesting. He was teaching, he was helping, he was needed.

When the class was over, he almost let Harry slip out, almost shied away from his decision to offer his support, but instead, called out, “Wait a moment, Harry, I’d like a word.”

Dutifully, Harry returned and watched as he began to pack up his things. “I heard about the match, and I’m sorry about your broomstick. Is there any chance of fixing it?”

“No,” Harry said, mournfully. “The tree smashed it to bits.”

 _Ah, that tree. Yet another way I’ve made life here just that much more unsafe…._ Sighing, he said, “They planted the Whomping Willow the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts. People used to play a game, trying to get near enough to touch the trunk. In the end, a boy called Davey Gudgeon nearly lost an eye, and we were forbidden to go near it. No broomstick would have a chance.”

There was a silence from Harry, then he seemed to force himself to say, “Did you hear about the dementors too?”

Lupin turned to him to see the bewilderment, frustration, and shame warring on the boys face.  _Oh, Harry._  “Yes, I did. I don’t think any of us have seen Professor Dumbledore that angry. They have been growing restless for some time…furious at his refusal to let them inside the grounds….I suppose they were the reason you fell?”

“Yes.” He seemed to second guess himself a moment, then he blurted in frustration. “ _Why_? Why do they affect me like that? Am I just–?”

Remus could see the despair and doubt creeping onto his young face and all at once he was unshakeable in his decision to reach out to the boy. Alone, he was blaming himself, doubting his strength. Not knowing the truth of what it meant. Unthinkable. “It has nothing to do with weakness,” he broke in, firmly. “The Dementors affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in your past that the others don’t have.”

He could see the boy struggling with this, staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and humiliation. The watery sunlight from the high windows fell across his face, shining on his glasses, his green eyes, the scar on his forehead. He needed to know his worth. He needed to know his strength. “Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles feel their presence, though they can’t see them. Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself…soulless and evil.” The torn scraps of the Fat Lady’s portrait flashed across his mind, the blazing eyes staring at him from the Prophet. “You’ll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life.” More memories attempted to blossom but he redirected his mind, looked at Harry. His parents dead, strangers trying to end his young life, betrayal at every turn. Danger where he should be safe. “And the worst that happened to you, Harry, is enough to make anyone fall off their broom. You have nothing to feel ashamed of.”

Harry’s eyes were fastened on the desk next to them. “When they get near me–” He swallowed, and continued, with difficulty, “I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum.”

Pain clenched in his gut out of nowhere, a pain laden with guilt. Not his mother, Harry’s. But… _Lily_ ….His hand had came up automatically to…do something. To reach out, to grasp his shoulder, his hand, to comfort but he forced it down.  _Teacher. You are not to him what he is to you._ He rooted through his mind, his heart for what to say to the boy but what does someone say? What does someone say to a boy who can hear his mother dying for him?  _Oh, Lily. Harry. You deserved so much better. So much more._

Abruptly, Harry’s face twisted, resentful. “Why did they have to come to the match?”

Remus continued packing up to keep his fists from clenching. “They’re getting hungry. Dumbledore won’t let them into the school, so their supply of human prey has dried up….I don’t think they could resist the large crowd around the Quidditch field. All that excitement…emotions running high…it was their idea of a feast.”

“Azkaban must be terrible.”

 _I have often hoped so. On dark nights_. “The fortress is set on a tiny island, way out to sea, but they don’t need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they’re all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought. Most of them go mad within weeks.”

Harry studied him, obviously thinking. “But Sirius Black escaped from them. He got away.”

The surge of emotion that welled up in him at the name took him completely by surprise and he had to hasten to catch his suitcase that slid from his grip. The damping weight of numbness that had surrounded him the past week seemed to have altogether weakened his immunity to it. It felt raw. “Yes,” he stood again. “Black must have found a way to fight them. I wouldn’t have believed it possible….Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard of his powers if he is left with them too long….” And yet….

“You made that Dementor on the train back off,” Harry’s sudden voice spun him onto a completely different track and he had to recalibrate a moment.

“There are–-certain defenses one can use. But there was only one Dementor on the train. The more there are, the more difficult it becomes to resist.”  _And I barely did a passable job at resisting the one…._

 _  
_ “What defenses?” Harry sounded eager. “Can you teach me?”

 _Anything. I would try to give you anything but…_  “I don’t pretend to be an expert at fighting Dementors, Harry…quite the contrary….”

But he was nothing if not persistent, like his mother. He was nothing if not endearing, like his father. He was nothing if not completely worthy of being able to defend himself against the horrors of this world. Defense Against the Dark Arts–-and all other manner of all too human error and hate. Remus agreed. The beginning of next term, of next year. He would finally be able to be of use to Harry.


	23. Doubts and Dementors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dangerous idea starts forming....

The end of term picked up a certain amount of momentum as the wet in the air turned to an edge of frost and the holidays grew ever closer. 

His schedule became more comfortable again, more practiced; the feeling of being an imposter lessened, but lingered, darkly. However, he hardly had any time for it any more, what with grading and teaching and rearranging his curriculum to account for his own missed days. The secret restlessness, for its part, seemed momentarily under control. Things were manageable. Life was actually…good. Brighter. Christmas decorations were beginning to pop up around the halls, banishing any lingering gloom that clung to the shadows from Halloween and its misadventure. Shiny baubles were clustered above doorways and garlands were strewn about with cheery abandon; he even heard Peeves carolling, albeit very lewd and rude versions of the songs. The corridors wafted with cooking meat, woodsmoke, and the sharp scent of pine, and the torches and lanterns that lit them seemed to glow brighter and merrier with some sort of natural magic as the dark descended ever earlier around the school. The days grew downright cold.

Though he usually felt lonely around the winter holidays, being surrounded so by people and the castle of his youth made that nearly impossible. Instead, it manifested as a nostalgic ache as echoes of memories would return to him; in his 3rd year, James had begun the tradition of giving Remus horrid Muggle Christmas sweaters each year along with his regular gift. 6th year, Remus had charmed a sprig of mistletoe to follow Sirius around everywhere he went and stolidly refused to tell him the counterspell, citing that Sirius would know it if he hadn’t been so busy trying to transfigure Peter’s shoes into lumps of coal during that class. It had taken him at least 3 days to figure it out, not to mention many awkward conversations. One winter full moon, they had convinced him to show up early to the Shrieking Shack and James had stepped majestically into the room as Prongs with ornaments and tinsel on every antler and his nose a sparkling red. If he recalled right, Remus laughed until he threw up. The other 3 had been very pleased with themselves. The memories…hurt, but if he isolated them and just watched, viewed them and did not relive them, it was manageable. If he the Remus that was there with them as they were was somewhere else in the castle, a ghostly presence enacting past hijinx in another room…he could do it. They were students. Like his own. Together.

His next Change at the beginning of December hurt more–the cold always made the ache preceding it deeper, more wearing, his joint pain sharper, despite the medicine for it–but darkened him less. It did not dim him as much as last month’s full moon; for that, he was grateful. He could still function, still be of use. Every so often, Poppy would shoot him a sharp, questioning look and he would return an easy nod and small smile. He was taking his potions and they were helping, for the most part. The Cheering Elixir seemed to keep him afloat; he could still feel sorrow and all it’s close cousins, but he no longer found it so easy to sink down and drown. It kept his head above water. With all the resources he was using, he figured a little joint pain was something he could do without complaining about.

One bitterly cold day, weeks later, he was strolling down the hill toward Hagrid’s hut for tea when something at the edge of the forest caught his attention with a flash of color. He stopped, breath pluming out like smoke in the air. Shading his eyes, he saw the orange cat that had visited him all those weeks ago, slowly winding its way through the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a ways down the hill. Suddenly, there was a movement behind it, and his stomach lurch in unpleasant surprise. A tall, cloaked Dementor glided out of the murk within feet of the cat. It was too far away to affect him but he took a step forward, prepared to intervene if it bothered the cat; however, was heading away, down the length of the trees, silent, ominous, oppressive. He stared at the cat. He stared at the Dementor. They…ignored each other. The cat wandered on, unperturbed, and the Dementor showed absolutely no notice that any living creature was nearby. It wasn’t even that it didn’t seem interested, for Dementors always were, when there was any positive emotion to be fed on in the vicinity; it just seemed to not even register the cat. An animal.

A shiver ran up and down the length of him that had nothing to do with the cold. Animals. Dementors…couldn’t suck the happiness of animals. They couldn’t sense animals the same way they could people.  _No…_

Automatically, he scanned the treeline, then strode quickly down the rise, approaching the cat, who looked up when it heard him and blinked, slowly. Remus stood above it, staring down at it and then around himself, hard. The cat seemed to be alone, but he drew his wand anyway, took a few steps into the woods. The smell of crushed loam and dead leaves drifted from his feet richly as the icy top layer cracked and memories tickled at the back of his head. This was a place if mischief and adventure, of roaming where you ought not and revelling in that fact.

But now, something else was stirring deep inside him; a deep feeling of unease, of a sour premonition, of a slowly dawning, unpleasant realization. Slowly, he stepped through the trees, peering around in the sepia gloom that grew the deeper he went. There were a few chirps and strange, far off animals noises that sounded out intermittently, but near him, only the few dead leaves that managed to cling to the branches rattled. He stood very still. The sense that there were things just beyond his view that had fastened their gazes on him was acute, but nothing stirred beyond the dim ring of his field of view. A breeze drifted in from deeper in the woods, bringing with it the scent of frost and pine. Fat flurries of snowflakes began to drift down around him, sticking to his shoulders and hair, the spidery limbs of the trees and the leaf litter.

Surely…surely if Sirius were in Padfoot form…it would not give him an advantage in hiding. A bear sized dog with pale eyes was not inconspicuous on school grounds. And certainly not within the castle. His palms prickled uncomfortably. It was undoubtedly irrelevant that Sirius could transform; it gave him no advantage when trying to infiltrate a school full of people. It must be some other sort of Dark magic that he had learned from Voldemort, something else that hid him and helped him sneak in. Right? An animagus wasn’t an animal, not completely, he reasoned. They still had human thoughts, they had told him, or else they would not be able to control his wolf on full moons. Surely that made a difference, a difference that Dementors could sense, a difference that did not mean that Remus had endangered the whole school–endangered  _Harry_ –by failing to confess….

Something behind him snapped. He whirled, wand whipping out in a rush of adrenaline that for a lopsided, dizzying moment threw him back 12 years and he was in a different forest, hunting a different Death Eater, heart pounding and stomach lurching as James shouted out a warning—

But it was Hagrid, holding up his hands in surprise, bushy eyebrows raised. “‘Ey!”

Hurriedly, Remus lowered his wand, tried to control his breathing. “Hagrid…” he said weakly. “Sorry.” His stomach roiled and he could see his breath billowing out between the snowflakes, too fast, and he closed his eyes.  _Control_. “Sorry,” He repeated, stronger this time. “I was…somewhere else.”

Hagrid nodded slowly, lowering his hands. “Saw ye comin’ down, then come in here. Forgot I was goin’ to Hogsmeade today and wanted to replan tea, so, figured I’d wait, but ye didn’t come right back out. Thought I’d check.” He peered at Remus closely, brows beetling in concern. “Ye alright, Lupin? Yer awful pale.”

Remus paused, still trying to pull his shivering body out of the memory of the War, and looked within. Nothing seemed to be…spiralling. So. “I…I believe so, yes.”

“What’d ye come in here for?”

Remus turned back to scan the trees once more, but was offered nothing more revealing than before. Snow was thickening quickly on the trees, brightening farther into the Forest to no avail. His hand tightened on his wand. “I…had a thought,” he said, quietly.

“Did it run away?” Hagrid’s black eyes crinkled, obviously trying to prompt him into levity.

“I hope not,” Remus murmured. “I really do.”

He followed Hagrid back out of the Forest and when they emerged, both the cat and the Dementor were nowhere to be seen. Nothing stirred on the grounds.

 _Surely_ ….


	24. Coward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introspection hurts.

The decision lay heavy in his gut. He trudged back to his rooms, brushing the snow from his hair and cloak before seating himself in front of the fire to thaw, hands red-tipped from the cold. Telling about their animagus alter egos would reveal a secret that no one else in the world knew, save Sirius. It did not feel like his own. In a twisted way, it felt like a betrayal. It would tarnish James’ name, Peter's name and…while it was a crime that Sirius was indeed guilty of, they had done it for Remus. Maybe that's where his hesitance came from. He leaned his elbows on his knees, watched the fire shift within the glowing logs like water, watched the flames lick over their blackened skins patiently, using them up, bit by bit. His fingers started to ache as feeling slowly returned. 

Everything inside him quailed at the thought of telling Dumbledore that he had willfully deceived him after he had fought so hard to allow Remus to attend school, that he just abused his trust and goodwill so easily. Of telling him that Remus had known all along and had participated in this betrayal, leaving the Shack, roaming the grounds. That Dumbledore had made a mistake in inviting him back, in trusting that he was a good person. That he was not only dangerous because of what he was, but _ who;  _ a man who was too selfish and too scared of being alone to do the right thing. 

He scrubbed his hands over his face and left them there. He would be sent away. And as painful as coming here had been, the weak, base part of him knew it would hurt far worse to lose the man that Dumbledore saw in him. It was a man that existed nowhere else but in the eyes of others. He knew that if anyone knew everything, how deep the wolf went, how far they had taken this secret, how truly self serving he was.… Well, there had been. There had been 4 people that had known. And he had ceased to be the person he was to them when they had died. All that was left was the person made a Professor by the belief of others and he wasn't sure he could survive another piece of him dying. Remus took his hands away from his face and looked at them. There was a scar that sliced over the base of his palm and curled down around his wrist that shone, raised and white, against the pink of his thawing skin. 

The Sirius he had known was dead, just as surely as Lily or James or Peter or his parents. The fire have a loud pop. This piece of information lay in his mind, cold and inert and immutable. Anything they had shared and any bond they might have had, it had become moot the moment that Sirius had chosen Voldemort over his own friends. His own family. 

Unbidden, a memory swam up.

_ “I’m out,”  _ Sirius had announced with a bleak and brittle smile. His eyes were overbright.

_ “You’re--what?”  _ Peter stopped sticking his Quidditch poster up beside his bed as they all turned to look at him.

_ “You asked why I have 3 bags. Because I’m out. For good. This--”  _ he gestured with fake grandeur down at the pile of suitcases he’d flung at his feet shortly before sitting on his bed.  _ “Is all that is officially mine. Most of it’s clothes.”  _ He stared down at them, gaze seeming far away.  _ “School books...Stole the blanket I liked. Some of the crap that’ll annoy them. Don’t even want it....” _

There was a stunned silence that had fallen on the room as the other 3 traded speechless looks. They straightened, slowly, from their various stages of unpacking to fill their dormitory, looking back to Sirius.  _ “Are you...are you serious?”  _ James asked, tentatively.

_ “Oh, very.” _ He looked up at them again and his mouth stretched in that same, ghastly smile. The fact that he hadn’t risen to the accidental bait of his favorite name-pun showed exactly the gravity of the situation.

_ “Oh…” _ Peter trailed off, weakly.

_ “I’m a free man, now. Don’t have to...keep quiet during Pureblood rants anymore...hear about how much better things were during ‘the Dark Lord’s reign’...any of it.”  _ Sirius’ smile had become fixed and wooden, his eyes even brighter as he stared in the spaces between them, not at any of their faces.

James took a deep breath.  _ “Does McGonagall know?”  _

_ “No...happened right before we left for the station. I just...shoved everything in my case. I expect they’ll have burned my name off the wall, by now...blood traitor, and all….” _

_ “Right. Peter, come with me--you’re gonna find McGonagall, I’m gonna go send an owl to my parents,”  _ James started toward the door, then turned back.  _ “You’ll come stay with us, alright? My folks--they love you, it’ll be no trouble. Don’t worry about the holidays or anything; you’ll be family. Alright?”  _ When Sirius just stared at him in a mute glaze of incomprehension, James locked gazes with Remus and sent him a significant look.

Remus nodded firmly and James left, Peter trailing close behind, bewildered. Slowly, Remus made his way over and sat beside Sirius on his bed, gazing at the same spot on the curtains Sirius was.  _ “I’m happy,” _ Sirius said, hollowly.  _ “I’m  _ **_happy_ ** _ ….so why….”  _ His fists clenched and he stared down at them. Remus looked over at him.

_ “It’s alright…” _ Remus started, gently, but Sirius shook his head.

_ “It’s not. I--”  _ His voice caught and Remus’ own throat gave a squeeze as he watched Sirius’ eyes fill, a look of helplessness, of dawning horror coming over his face. He turned and met his eyes.  _ “I don’t know what to do,”  _ He whispered, shakily, almost inaudible. 

As his eyes finally spilled over, he buried his face in his hand, the other sitting as a tight fist on his knee and he shook, silent. Remus slowly stretched out his arm and put it around Sirius’ shoulders, light and tentative. He flinched at first, but said nothing, and so Remus settled it there and squeezed his arm, hard. They sat a long while in silence as Sirius shoulders heaved against his side as he searched for what to say, if anything. After a time, Remus took a slow, deep breath.  _ “I’m sorry.”  _ He said, lowly.

_ “I’m not.”  _ Sirius bit out in wet, savage voice.

_ “Well, I am.”  _

Sirius let out a soft, broken noise but said nothing else, face still hidden.

_ “I think...no matter how terrible they are...no matter how much you always said you wanted to get out...it’s okay to still feel...lost. Sad. They’re your family.” _

_ “NO,”  _ Sirius’ head whipped around and Remus saw his face pale and tear streaked, his nose red, but his eyes ablaze.  _ “No, they’re not; you are--”  _ he stabbed his finger down into the crimson bedspread, encompassing the other missing 2 with the room.  _ “More than they ever were. They might be blood but I’m MORE than that. I’m--I’m a Gryffindor, I’m a Marauder, I’m Padfoot,  I’m--I’m--” _

_ “One of us,”  _ Remus said, softly, firm.

_ “Yes,”  _ he swallowed, hard, nodding.  _ “Yes. I don’t need them. I don’t need--pureblood or Dark Magic or--or whatever other stupid plans they had for me--marrying a cousin, being a Death Eater, carrying on the Black legacy. It’s bullshit. I don’t need it. I have...I KNEW I would have….I’m not like them.”  _ He shook his head then let it hang down, closed his eyes.  _ “I don’t ever want to be like them.”  _

_ “You’re not. We’re here.” _

They had relinquished him into McGonagall’s authoritative custody for questioning and immediately snuck out under James’ cloak to raid Honeyduke’s and Zonko’s, leaving behind a pile of galleons on the counters. The rest of the night was spent planning pranks, eating sweets, and ignoring the gloom of the reveal. They made him laugh and forget. At least for a little while. After all, they were home, again. 

Older, now, he still knew the boy who had cried. He still held that Sirius separate in his heart from the one who had chosen to throw all of that away. That boy was dead. Remus felt that he must be the sole keeper of that memory, for the man that Sirius had become could not have grown from such rawness, could not have forged the path he had chosen. That dead boy had sacrificed his safety to keep him company on the full moon. That dead boy could never hurt James. Could never try to kill James’ son. His knowledge of that person was useless. He did not know the murderer who stalked the castle grounds, now. How could anything he knew  be of any use in keeping him out? He didn't have the Marauders Map. He didn’t know whatever advanced Dark Magic Voldemort had possessed and obviously passed on. All that he knew about Sirius was his form as a dog, which gave no supernatural powers on itself. He rubbed his temples. 

He had already failed in the ways that he would, in this business. In his trust, in his naive and childish secret keeping, in his reckless and vile need for belonging somewhere--anywhere. And still, almost Christmas, and Sirius had not broken in again. 

_ That's a nice rationalization,  _ a voice in him said, tartly.  _ Just going to push it away, then. You're good at that. Coward. _

Grimly, Remus rose, shed his cloak, and shoved it all down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a hard one! It was difficult to wrestle him into the place I needed him to be, because we KNOW that he doesn't tell anyone.


	25. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Engaging Divination conversations over breakfast.

The end of term rolled across the school like some sort of storm front, leaving a mere scattering of students and Professors behind in the halls and dormitories. The staff had held what seemed to be an annual gift exchange in the staffroom the morning of the Hogwarts Express departure, before most of them made the trip back home to spend the holiday break with family. Remus had not been told that this would happen and guilt at his own short sightedness chafed at the pride that had been blooming within him at the ever growing ease with which he was managing to fit into the rhythm of the castle. It was Christmas, of  _ course  _ there would be gifts. Just because he hadn’t personally celebrated the holiday with anyone for many years didn’t mean the rest of the world was so stunted. 

He apologized profusely and tried to refuse the warm, thick knitted mittens Professor Sprout pushed into his hands as well as the book on anecdotal stories about dark beasts from McGonagall. It was when Dumbledore presented him a set of sky blue quills and a broad, twinkling smile, brushing away his words, that he began to suspect that he had been purposefully left out of the loop on account of his budget. The thought made him flush under his collar with embarrassment. Until it pushed him to resolve to spring surprise Valentine’s Day presents on all of them, just to return the “favor”. 

He wasn’t particularly close with any of the other teachers, but Professor Sinestra did give him a box of chocolate biscuits that she had also gotten for everyone else and Professor Binns just wished them all a rather vague Merry Christmas. Charity Burbage, who taught Muggle studies, handed out a Muggle devices she excitedly revealed to be “floppy discs” to everyone, to their intense bemusement. Remus did actually have working knowledge of the Muggle world, having been relegated to the outskirts, the sort of grey area between the 2 cultures, so the idea of being given a floppy disc that was essentially useless without its partner devices entertained him immensely. He accepted the gift gravely with the proper amount of interest and appreciation anyhow. Nearly all of the Professors had gone home after the celebration, leaving behind himself, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Professor Trelawney, whom he had never actually encountered face to face. 

It was a few days before Christmas in the nearly vacant castle that the dreamy and elusive Professor Trelawney was actually at the breakfast table, staring deeply into her plate of sausage and eggs as if they held a particularly complex puzzle. Curiously, Remus seated himself next to her and ventured a, “Good morning, Professor.”

He had had a enough… _ enlightening _ conversations with Professor McGonagall on the subject of Sybill Trelawney to know that her opinion of the woman was rather low. Quite low. Incredibly low. Words like ‘con artist’ and ‘frivolous idiot’ and ‘waste if professional resources’ had been bandied around more than once, which was, frankly, rather impressive considering their specificity. He, however, preferred to draw his own conclusions.

At his greeting, she turned and blinked her enormous eyes, blown comically wide underneath thick lenses. The move wafted a wave of musky incense over him and he had to fight the urge to sneeze, opting instead to clear his throat. “Oh,” She answered mistily, “it won't be, I'm afraid. Though the vibrations of the higher planes are not as potent as they may be in my sanctuary, the message is clear.” She gravely spread her thin, bejeweled fingers over her plate in an invitation. Obligingly, he leaned over and peered down.

“Ah….” It was…sausage and eggs. “Perhaps I'm not practiced enough to…parse this particular message.”

“Grave news. A visit! A storm, approaching.” Trelawney seemed to be watching his face knowingly as she circled the running yoke with her finger. “Betrayal.”

“Hmm!” Seemed a neutral enough response. Remus had the feeling that she would have delighted his friends back in their school days, if only because she would have provided so much entertainment. He batted this thought away reprovingly--she was a Professor-- and looked back at her. “However can you tell? I had heard of tea leaves, but I must confess; divination was never something I excelled at.”

She gave a knowing smile and said in a dreamy voice. “It is an art few do, I fear. It requires a delicate attunement to the mystical forces beyond common knowledge. It is rare that someone who has not devoted their life to the noble path to the Truth would be as fluent as a master. Using the arts of ornithomancy and haruspication, even something so common as breakfast can be revealing.” She nodded her bangled head sagely, her long, beaded earrings clacking.

_ Ornitho _ … He mused internally _ , Birds? Oh. The eggs. Ah… “ _ Haruspication?” he inquired mildly. 

“The study of animal entrails for glimpses of the future.”

Remus kept his face very straight.  _ And the sausages. _ “How…ah…exceptional.”

A movement beyond Professor Trelawney caught his eye and down the staff table a way saw Professor McGonagall staring at him pointedly with wide eyes. Remus bit the inside of his cheek and wrestled with his expression as he turned his focus back to the novel woman who sat beside him. He could still see McGonagall from the corner of his eye. “You must have a truly, er, exceptional gaze to see so many signs in our everyday life!” He offered, perhaps a bit over-brightly.  _ No… _

McGonagall made a quick move in his periphery; a hand to her mouth? Remus pursed his lips and bit his tongue.  _ No no… _

Trelawney beamed at him glitteringly. “Well!” She sounded quite vindicated. “I must say, it is a relief to know that there are still respectable wizards in this world that value and respect the ancient arts, besides our esteemed Headmaster.”

Well, this was nothing but the truth, and so he felt safe saying, “I do, indeed.” 

Leaning over, she peered deeply at his choice of breakfast, fingers steepled pensively. “Hmmm. Bacon…toast…muffin....” Her voice was hushed and ominous, then, she gave a small gasp.  _ “Tea.” _

Remus could see McGonagall shaking, making him wrap an arm around his middle, the other plastered hastily over his mouth, taking deep, steadying breaths through his nose. The mirth that was filling his chest was a dangerous bubble that threatened to burst out of him.  _ No no no… “ _ Drink!” the cup was thrust beneath his nose, which he gratefully took and sucked down, focusing on the scalding of his tongue instead.

As she squinted into his tea dregs, muttering quietly, he poured himself some chilled cordial to soothe his mouth and pointedly did  _ not _ look at McGonagall. “Aaaah,” Trelawney breathed at his elbow. “A moon.”

A quiet wheeze came from beyond her that she didn't seem to hear. “A wheel--changes. The rim--a difficult past.”

“Oh dear,” he offered in a strangled voice.

“A career change...a connection…” she lifted her eyes slowly. “A castle.”

Remus was desperately trying to keep the convulsing form of McGonagall out of his line of sight. His hand was back over his mouth, eyes bright as he nodded vigorously. “Mm!” 

“My dear…” she lay a sympathetic hand on his arm. “You must let me scry in my crystal ball for you; I am receiving a premonition… Christmas…a change will come over you….”

Remus shot to his feet and said in a pinched voice that racheted up about an octave too high, “Oh! I've forgotten something I desperately need! In my study! Excuse me!”

He managed to make it out the doors of the Great Hall until he turned and saw Professor McGonagall at his heels. When their gazes met, they each dissolved into peals of helpless giggles. “A  _ moon!”  _ McGonagall wheezed.

“Does she know? Does she know the staff knows, that it's not a secret?” Remus choked.

“' _ A change will come over you,’”  _ she parroted in a quavery voice. “Considering it's  _ the full moon _ and you can read a _ calendar--!” _

“Now now, I'm sure she's a valuable--”

“She's  _ not!!”  _ McGonagall half howled, wiping a tear from under her glasses. 

“Now be  _ fair--” _

_ “ _ **_Tea._ ** ” She intoned with such implied menace and dread that they both crumpled over double and shook with laughter so hard, their stomachs ached.


	26. Small Kindnesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gifts of all sorts just keep on coming.

The morning the Hogwarts Express brought the thundering hordes back to the school's halls, Remus caught Hagrid stomping dejectedly past the Great Hall in lieu of lunch. Frowning, he picked up his pace to follow and called out, “Hagrid!” The giant man turned at his voice. “I haven't seen you around much, lately; are you alright?”  
  
Hagrid’s face was puffy and subdued as he shrugged miserably. “Oh. Lupin. No, I been….” He heaved a sigh. “No, not really. I got news, ‘bout a week ago; Beaky’s appeal date. It don't look good, not at all.”  
  
As they both stopped outside the Hall’s huge doors, Remus realized with a sharp pang that he had completely let his own turmoil--with Sirius, the Change, and his subsequent convalescence--eclipse his focus; he had forgotten about the hippogriff's hearing. Before he could even begin to formulate an apology, however, Hagrid seemed to brighten marginally, “Oh! Almos’ forgot! Here, the day the staff did their gift exchange was the day I…the day the letter came and...I didn't feel like….” He trailed off. Then, he shook himself, like a shaggy dog shaking off water and started to dig through the countless pockets that spotted his enormous coat.

“Oh, no, Hagrid, you don’t have to--” Remus began to protest but the big man was already drawing out a large, squashy brown package fastened with twine. Looking up at him, he tried again, almost pleadingly. “I haven’t any presents, I can’t possibly--”

“Ah, go on, tha’s not the point!” Hagrid shook his head cheerfully and wiggled the package. “Go on!”

Reluctantly, he took the present and squeezed it experimentally, curious despite his growing distress at being possibly the worst Christmas participant in the school. It seemed...soft. “Open it!” Hagrid urged, nearing glee, now, which started to worry Remus; he instantly became very aware of whether the thing in his hands was breathing or not. It smelled vaguely of ferret, which did nothing to assuage his rising alarm. It seemed…inert. Probably. Hopefully.

Apprehensively, he pulled the twine and unfolded the paper to be met with the sight of a mass of scarlet yarn. Instantly feeling more intrigued, he wadded up the wrapping and tucked it under his arm before spreading what seemed to be a massive red sweater, roughly 3 sizes bigger than Remus had ever been in his life, emblazoned with a lopsided yellow lion silhouette. Speechlessly, he draped it over his arm to run a hand slowly down the front. It was soft and plush. “Knit it meself,” Hagrid said, pride in his voice. “Had to start over a few times and now that I look at ye,” he eyed Remus up and down. “I think I might ‘o got the sizing a bit off. I knew I wanted to make you a jumper, I know yer office is cold and ye get chilly--er-- _ now and again.  _ But I remembered you sayin’ that ye don’t have any ‘o yer old school gear anymore an’ I figured ye might want somethin’ to show yer house colors! Maybe at a Quidditch game or….” He trailed off, squinting at him. “Lupin? Ye alrigh’?”

Remus hadn’t moved, staring down at the sweater with his hand on the lion. The oddest feeling was brewing in his chest, slowly taking root and climbing until it squeezed his throat, keeping any words from coming. He felt like laughing and crying at once and he certainly didn’t feel like doing that with students beginning to trickle out of the Great Hall just yards away from their conversation. It felt like nostalgia and regret and joy and pain and gratitude.  _ It’s a sweater _ , he thought a bit incredulously at himself, but it wasn’t  _ just _ a sweater. It was a gift. It was one of the most thoughtful gifts he had ever received. “Ah…” His voice was tight and rough, and he swallowed. “Yes. Yes, I’m...I’m alright.” Finally, he looked up and smiled. “Thank you, Hagrid. This is…amazing. I love it.” 

Hagrid seemed startled, but blushed a little at his fervent tone. “Oh, I dunno, it was jus’ a little somethin’ I worked on in the evenin’s, y’know….”

“Give me a few days, I'll also have a present for you. And,” he raised his voice over Hagrid when the other man began to shake his head and object. “If you need any company or help during Buckbeak’s case,  _ please _ let me know.”

Hagrid beamed. “Well… us new Professors gotta stick together, eh?” 

They both exchanged parting belated holiday greetings as they both needed to prepare for their classes the next day and parted company, Hagrid looking decidedly more cheerful. As he walked through the sun dotted corridors, Remus continued to run his palm down the velvety yarn. _ Why are people so kind?  _ Was that it, the root of the disproportionate reaction to a simple, thoughtful gift?  That he felt inherently unworthy of the effort put into him? His friends’ commitment to being illegal Animagi, the accommodations that allowed him to attend school at all, the sacrifice of isolation his parents endured because of his lycanthropy, Hagrid still caring for him through his own struggles as a Professor and with Buckbeak’s case…. What had he done to deserve any of that? 

Impulsively, he stopped around the corner from the Great Hall and pulled it on over his robe. It was indeed several sizes too big; it hung halfway to his knees and he had to roll up the sleeves several times to function with his hands at all, but it was thick and warm. He certainly looked ridiculous with his robes hanging out below it and the collar gaping far too wide on his shoulders but, as he smiled down fondly at the misshapen lion, he couldn't bring himself to care.

He continued on, exchanging pleasant smiles and nods with passing students in the corridor as the halls slowly filled back up to their normal, pre-holiday saturation. The low hum of conversations that were happening behind doors and beyond corners was beginning to breathe life back into the castle after so many weeks with only a handful of inhabitants. Surprisingly, he found that he was pleased with the change; it seemed that he'd forgotten exactly how much he enjoyed the company of others during his years of semi-self inflicted isolation. Remus had never thought of himself as a social person. Now, he was beginning to think that that was because he never had much of an opportunity to be.

As he rounded the corner to his office, he was surprised by Luna nearly bouncing off of him as she did the same.

“Oh, Professor Lupin, hello! I had just checked to see if you were back, yet,” she backed up a few steps and smiled up at him.

“Hello! I stayed for the break, actually. You seem very--” he searched for the word. Her long hair was divided into 2 plaits and seemed to be braided  through with fine, tinsel-like strands of something. She was wearing bright orange pom poms on her ears that battled her shimmering, holographic rain boots for attention. “Shiny.” He finished, truthfully.

“Oh, I'm glad that came across,” she said breezily and stuck out her foot. “Dad found these for me in a muggle thrift store when he was searching for haunted clocks. I find them very entertaining and, not to mention, functional.”

“An accurate assessment, no doubt,” Remus smiled and gestured in an invitation to join him walking back. Luna easily fell into step beside him.

“You seem very warm and chivalrous,” she returned, then pointed at his sweatshirt when he must have looked blank.

“Oh! Yes,” he tugged it out flat, which didn't do too much to make the lion straighter. “Hagrid made it for me as a gift. It  _ is _ very warm. Chivalrous?” He asked curiously.

“Gryffindor.” 

“Ah, I see.” 

They reached his office and, with a tap of his wand, the door unlocked and opened before them. “Tea, Luna?”

“Just had lunch, but thank you. I actually came to talk to you about something,” her face grew as serious and focused as he had ever seen as she followed him inside.

“Of course; anything,” he frowned a little, concerned, and took a seat in his desk chair with a creak as she sat opposite him. “Are the other students bothering you again?”

“It's about you, actually, Professor. I've noticed for a while, but I wasn't sure until I did some research over the break; you get sick a lot.” 

His stomach lurched suddenly, but he kept his expression straight, his tone light, acknowledging. “My health has…always been a bit, ah, unreliable.” 

“Yes, sir, and it took me a while to realize, but you get sick about once a month, don't you?” 

_Oh._ He could feel his face drain, his panic try to rise up his throat and choke him. His breath caught. _No no no…._ This was Severus at school all over again; a child too clever for their own good, making connections, slowly coming to be suspicious, learning too much. But he was _fond_ of Luna, he thought the world of her and now…and now… she would know, she would fear, she would _hate_ \-- “Ah...I hadn't…noticed as much….” he said, faintly.

His mouth was very dry. He was going to have to leave. He wouldn't be welcome here, not after she knew, not after she told… What if she had already told her father? What if he was talking with Dumbledore, right now, demanding that the monster be removed from the school? He would be evicted before term was even back in session, just disappeared, exiled in shame. His classes would know, his students,  _ Harry-- _ my God, he couldn't face the _ disgust….  _ His thoughts were a terrorized clamor so loud, he had to force himself to focus on her next words, to keep his face politely interested, calm. 

“When I was at home, I looked up a few things. It took me a bit to see the pattern, but when I did, it was so clear.”

It would be a scandal. Everyone would know. There would be no one in the Wizarding World who didn't know his name, his face. His disease. There would be no room for him, anymore. No more magic. No more belonging. The temporary comfort of his cozy office seemed altogether like a thin gauze over a nasty truth; none of this was his. None of this was here to stay. Belonging wasn't a thing he did, only a thing he desperately pretended at. Wanted. 

Unconsciously, his hands sank into the hem of his sweatshirt beneath the desk, balling it up in cold, stiff fists. He merely looked at her as levelly as he could. He had no words.

“I think you've got,” Luna leaned forward, pale eyes locked with his and said, in grave earnest, “Gilliwiskins.”

A brief silence fell where they stared at each other as her pronouncement sank in. Then, a sharp belt of shocked, slightly crazed laughter popped from him without him thinking and he clapped a hand over his mouth as she blinked in surprise. “Erm, pardon,” he muttered in a strangled quaver before clearing his throat. “Ah...Gilli...?”  _ This child is going to give me a heart attack,  _ he thought weakly.

“Gilliwiskins!” She repeated, enthusiasm growing at his seeming interest. “They're tiny creatures that hide between your toes; you get them when you walk through marshlands on new moons without the proper footwear and they stick and drain your energy. They also cause stomach pain, ear itchiness, and those songs that just get caught in your head for weeks.” She rustled through her pockets and drew out a small, dusty-blue box, pushing it across the desk to him. 

Dazedly, he took it and opened the lid to see a small, green ocarina with 2 long yellow feathers stuck to one end nestled inside. “I looked it up--my Dad has these books, because not many people know about Gilliwiskins and you wouldn't be able to find much about them in the library here--and if you play a song you don't like very much every night with your non-dominant hand, then rub the feathers between your toes, that should get rid of the eggs that they lay. They hatch once a month, which is usually when people feel the worst.” She watched him expectantly as he absorbed this information.

An almost hysterical bubble of laughter that had nothing to do with mirth and everything to do with narrowly avoided catastrophe seemed to want to break free as all the anxiety left in a rush, leaving him weak with relief. But he didn't want her to think he was laughing at her. So, he arranged his face to thoughtfulness and picked up the tiny instrument, biting the inside of his cheek against the frenetic giddiness in his chest. She didn't suspect, he wasn't caught, he could stay… 

“Fascinating!” He turned it this way and that; it was really a sweet little thing, looking rough enough that she might have even made it herself. “Well... thank you very much, I appreciate you looking out for me. However--” he hesitated when he looked up and saw her earnest young face, open and concerned, eye-searing orange earrings practically quivering with her attentiveness. He gave a small, slightly crooked smile and revised. “However, it must have taken you a lot of time to go through this trouble for me. Thank you, Luna; you are very kind. Did you make this?”

She nodded, looking very pleased. 

“It’s beautiful. Absolutely marvelous.”

She was beaming benignly at him as he realized with an exasperated jolt that he had just been given  _ yet another gift _ . How utterly unprepared could one person be for the kindness in their life? Unendingly, it seemed. As his heart rate slowed from what felt like a near miss, he ended up rather desperately thrusting his remaining chocolate bars at her in lieu of premeditated gifts with a slightly sheepish “Merry Christmas,” as she bid him goodbye _. _ When he saw her to the door and waved her down the hall, he spotted a small red package beside the door frame that had not been there when he and Luna had entered. Bemused, he unwrapped it to see a note atop a small box of Christmas chocolates that read, ‘ _ Happy Holidays from the Longbottom’s!’  _

“Oh, for the love of--!” He was going to make a trip to Hogsmeade before class tomorrow for some serious belated-and-incompetent-Christmas-participant shopping if it killed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus far, Remus hasn't been very talkative outside the text but this chapter, it was like he literally turned from his conversation to look at me and say, 'We're going shopping next chapter.' I guess he's done with unrequited gifts?  
> Please forgive any grammar stuff, I wrote this at 2 separate times and had to force myself to just put it out with minimal editing, or else I would NEVER POST IT.


	27. Hogsmeade Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus' shopping trip is more than they bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pun summary. I'm so proud.

Remus was warned off of giving specific gifts to specific students by Professor Sprout and McGonagall; “You don’t want to promote favoritism or inappropriate teacher student relationships,” McGonagall had said warningly.

“You also don’t want to be beholden to 75 little ruffians for Christmas crackers,” Sprout had muttered darkly, instilling in him a burning need for  _ that _ story. But when he had looked at her in curiosity, she had just shaken her head solemnly and sipped her tea. 

She did, however elect to come along, as she apparently needed a new stash of Cauldron Cakes; Peeves had dumped all of them down the toilet. “Little bugger doesn’t often bother me,” she had scowled sourly as they met outside the gates in the pearly late morning light. “I fancy he was bored, what with the castle being empty for weeks on end and there’s no way I’ll be able to manage first year’s greenhouse drama without my chocolate.” She clasped her green cloak and set her fuzzy earmuffs on firmly before looking up at him. “Ready?”

They Apparated in tandem, appearing on Hogsmeade’s snowy streets in stride with each other. The snow looked like icing on the cozy store front with their frosted windows, glowing from within. For a moment, he allowed the ease of this place seep into him; magic folk everywhere, the full moon weeks away, a town steeped with happy memories like a strong tea. How many times had he walked these streets with friends at his side with adolescent smugness or huddled in sneaky delight, beneath James’ cloak? Too many to count, he was sure. He could walk these streets blindfolded, if pressed. A moment of pain passed through his chest; he found if he alighted on memories delicately enough, just grazed them in passing, they hurt far less than being submerged and…wallowing, he supposed the term was. 

Remus looked down at Professor Sprout, striding briskly at his elbow. Perhaps it was time for a new memory in this place.  “Well, my stop is Honeyduke’s,” she said. “Anything you're getting from there?”

He studied the sign thoughtfully. “I'll expect that's the safest place to get most things, honestly; who doesn't enjoy sweets? Probably the easiest on my budget as well,” he sighed before eyeing her dryly. “That  _ was _ the general idea of the holiday amnesia where everyone conveniently forgot to inform me when presents were exchanged, was it not?”

Sprout had the decency to at least not try to pretend she didn't know what he was talking about; she met his eyes and flashed him a knowing grin. “Yep. I told them it wouldn't hold water; too much pride in you to let all that go.”

“Pride hasn't a thing to do with it!” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. She raised hers right back. “Well… at least not all of it,” he subsided, grudgingly. 

The smell of warm caramel and dark chocolate flooded over them as they entered the warm, spacious candy shop. While he enjoyed sweets as much as the next person, it seemed the youthful fanaticism with sugar had dimmed in his years away from Hogwarts. Where the ocean of nougat, sprinkles, and icing would have seemed a veritable dream to him when he was Harry's age now had the effect of making his teeth hurt just looking at them. Idly, the both of them wandered down separate aisles, picking through the smorgasbord of colors and flavors. “What does Professor McGonagall like?” Remus asked over the partition featuring a bright blue mouse doing some sort of frenzied, quaking dance, giving faint squeaks intermittently. 

“Minerva's a woman who likes the basics; biscuits, some of those lemon meringue bites, the simple things, no special effects.” Her voice issued from somewhere behind a tower of chocolate frog boxes. “You  _ can _ call her Minerva, you know, lad. You're not our student anymore.”

A small chuckle escaped him at the thought of the awed and terrified look that Peter would have shot him if he  _ dared _ try to address her that way. The unholy and irreverent glee that would have shone in James and Sirius’s eyes. “I wouldn’t dare. I’m not sure when I’ll feel like a proper Professor anyhow; I still have the maddening feeling everyone knows more than me.” He pondered over the bright stacks before choosing the very bits of meringue Sprout had suggested.

“No one knows more than anyone else, just answers to different questions,” she grunted dismissively and came around the corner to his aisle. “Ah, here they are.” She began loading boxes of Cauldron Cakes into her arms while speaking over her shoulder to him. “Now, listen, you've done your research and you know your stuff. And there's no possible way you could do any worse than the buffoon Dumbledore hired last year; ask Minerva about it sometime. She has a whole tirade. These,” she reached out and plucked a bag of candied violets that apparently sent sparkling purple butterflies flitting about when jostled. “Filius likes these.” Obligingly, he set them in the basket, making the contents shimmer and flutter for a few seconds before settling. “Who else are you buying for?”

“Oh, all the staff.”

“Even Severus?”

“Especially Severus.”

When she shot him a squint of disbelief, he tried to smile as benignly as Luna and said, “Would anything annoy him so much as a gift from me that he actually enjoyed?”

Sprout laughed aloud. “Wicked boy!” She said, approvingly. 

They moved about the store, Sprout acting as his candy liason to the professorial body at Hogwarts, pulling this and that from the shelves before he hefted the lot up to the front counter. After a thought, he also replenished his chocolate collection for the students from the wicker baskets where the bars were stacked at least a dozen high. The portly man behind the register quirked his large moustache in jovial amusement at the hoarde, to which Remus said, slightly sheepish, “Er, late holiday shopping.”

“Doesn't bother me any, son,” he chuckled and began to pack them all away into brown bags, decorated ornately with shiny gold patterning.

The sun was crawling high above them when they left the shop, brighter through the veil of clouds than it had been when they arrived. Remus turned to Professor Sprout. “My class is in the afternoon, do you have anything you need to return for?” 

She considered the castle far up on the distant hill, then squinted up at the sun before she screwed her long pipe in between her teeth. “Mm, not particularly. Fancy a walk?”

“Certainly.”

“Do you mind?” She flicked the pipe with the tip of her finger, to which he shook his head.

“Not at all.” 

She lit it with a decisive jab of her wand and began determinedly puffing on it, long streams of sweet, earthy smelling smoke billowing from her nose and lips along with her wintery breath. They trudged along in amiable silence, every once in a while breaking it to point out some patron or another, some remembered memory on a street corner. It was cold enough that it bit his toes even through his shoes but not enough to ruin the pleasure of the crisp air and walking with company.  Sprout’s nose was bright red above her pipe, but she looked cozy bundled in her wooly cloak, scarf and mittens, grey hair sticking every which way. “How are they working for you? Those?” She asked suddenly after a moment, gesturing with her chin to his hands, as if reading his mind.

“Oh,” he looked down at his brown mittened hands and flexed them. “Wonderful, actually. I hadn't even noticed they weren't cold. Thank you,” he added, and she waved him away airily.

“Bad as it sounds, I had them around and weren't getting much use from them--I prefer gloves, fingerless ones, at that. Figured you’d appreciate them more.”

He laughed. “Waste not….” 

It faded from his face, however, when he saw that their absent wanderings had brought them to the fence of the Shrieking Shack. Sprout glanced up at him at the sudden quiet but then made a grim sound around her teeth clamped on her pipe. “Sorry, lad,” She said quietly, sounding as gentle as Remus had ever heard her.

He blinked back at her, then realized his expression must have looked quite bleak. “What? Oh. No, it's…” Looking back at the Shack, he gave an involuntary shiver, the temperature seeming to drop by degrees. He tucked his hands beneath his arms and shot her a fleeting smile he didn't feel. “It's alright.” 

She squinted at him and began to say something when she too gave a shudder and rubbed at her arms. This place seemed to suck the sunshine out of the day and suddenly, his meager bag of treats didn't seem even close to balancing out the gifts he'd received. The darkness of the Shack beyond them, the numbing fingers of frigid wind that snuck between cloak flaps and slipped down his neck weighed down on him. He now just felt foolish, standing here with a bag full of candy, hoping to even come close to paying back the charity he had received, unearned. The cold was an ache in his bones and joints, throbbing in his deepest scars.   _ Wait… _ Remus furrowed his brow, turning to Professor Sprout to ask, “Do you--” but she was looking into the forest over his shoulder, face drained of color.

Time became stilted. Suddenly, his wand was in his hand and he was facing 3 Dementors that were almost halfway to them from the woods. He stepped in front of Sprout when she made a noise--maybe the beginning of a word, a spell, an order. Something in the back of his mind was trying to tell him that they had nothing to fear, all the Dementors could do-- _ would _ do-- was drain happiness; they weren’t fugitives. They hadn’t done anything wrong. The Dementor’s wouldn’t do anything.

Wraith-like, they swept forward with something like intent in their tilt. Hunger in the dipping of their heads.  _ Starving…. _ “We haven’t done anything,” he said loudly, going for strident, but it caught in his throat as they all pulled in a sucking gasp as one. “Go--”

The tide of absolute deathly cold that flooded the two of them swamped any rational thought he might have had. There was an animal terror, here, that was clawing at the back of his mind. Unnervingly, it felt as if he were slipping sideways mentally, as though down a path long since forgotten. Unguarded against. A memory ignited like a faulty match, sputtering.

Night. A bright night. Leaves patterned against the window. A record played in his parents room, warbling, distant. Warm and safe; it smelled like home. A scrabbling at the window, a shadow against the moon. Sitting up, rubbing sleep from his eyes; a branch? A rasp against the glass; an owl? 

No...bigger….

Yellow-green eyes, the predator-pupil glint against the bedside night-light. A vibration, lower than a growl, going deeper than a sound, cutting straight through him. Terror. Frozen. The latch cracking, tinkling to the floor.  _ Help.  _ The muffled thud. Claws on the hard-wood. Slowly. Catching in the wool rug. Stalking.  _ Oh, help….  _ He opened his mouth to scream, to call out, to say some magic words to be safe but--

He opened his mouth. “Ex--” It was nothing; steam on the breeze. Useless. 

The creak of the bed as the beast put up a paw, levering--he twisted to run, flinging himself off the bed--the overwhelming stench of rotten meat, of wet fur, of monster--he was slammed down, he was lifted, fangs in flesh, he was thrown--

_ You aren’t that boy; you are the monster.  _

The teeth--the madness--the screaming--

“ _ HEY! _ ” 

The bellow came from right beside him and he flinched away, glazed eyes turning. Professor Sprout flung a snowball at the one in the lead, catching it in its middle to negligible effect. She was bristling, pipe forgotten, eyes burning as she bent down to scoop up a rock. “This isn’t tea time! Get out!” The rock sailed over their heads but Sprout’s action broke whatever horrible flashback loop he seemed to be caught in and he began to desperately rummage about for happy thoughts. 

_ Harry. Luna. Neville. Dumbledore. The joy of the castle. Harry is safe. I am home.  _ “Expecto Patronum,” he said slowly, clearly.

Nothing happened at his wand tip but the Dementors, who had already slowed at Sprout’s attack, swirled, more agitated, drawing no closer.  _ Breathe. You’ve done this before. Happiness as a weapon, not as their food. Teaching. You teach, you help. _ Lily’s voice surfaced once more, echoing from so many years ago;  _ You help people.  _ “Expecto Patronum,” he repeated, louder. 

“What he said,” Sprout spat, holding up another snowball menacingly in one hand and her wand in the other. “Expecto Patronum!”

One of them gave an almost animal like huff of irritation and they began to drift back the way they came. But they went slowly, their faces still turned to them as if hesitating. 

McGonagall snickering helplessly. Hagrid beaming, presenting his gift. “Go!” Remus barked, “Expecto Patronum!”

At the faint silver vapor that darted from his wand, they finally turned and retreated steadily, drifting silently back into the forest. Remus and Sprout stood, breathing a little too fast, until she sat down abruptly and heavily on a tree stump with a muttered curse. He found that he could really only look at her, feeling drained and a little lost, until he spotted her pipe, lying forgotten in the snow between them. Wobbling slightly, he made his way over and presented it to her along with half a chocolate bar he snapped off without a word. Equally silent, she met his eyes briefly before taking both. He sat in the snow beside her rather woodenly and started in on his own, unenthusiastic. After a few bites, however, he could feel the cold of the ground beneath him rather than the cold within him and the crisp winter air smelled like pine and snow. He now had a stomach instead of just ice, albeit a nauseated one. “Thank you,” he said, a little raggedly after a few moments.

“It was you who cast it,” she answered, voice rough.

“I was useless. I...I wasn’t expecting...3.”

She looked down at him, then into the distance. “Not useless. 3 is too much for any one person, I expect. I wasn’t too much of a help myself.” She closed her eyes and drew in a shuddering breath. “Made me remember Elodie.”

“Elodie?”

“My wife.”

“I hadn’t known you were married.”

Grimly, she nodded. “Son, too. Gone, now.”

Something in her tone made him ask, “The War?”

She gave a grunt of assent, sucking in a breath through her nose and sighing it back out in a huge billow of rising steam, chewing on her chocolate bite. “Came home one day to no home. Ministry blokes everywhere. And Elodie and David….Well.” She cleared her throat loudly and brusquely crumpled the wrapper of her chocolate. “So it goes.”

He handed her another bar without prompting and she took it. “To think that I would grow to feel unsafe in Hogsmeade again,” she growled as she snapped off a piece with her teeth. “Didn't think we would have to bother with those damn things, what with Apparating, but it seems I was wrong.”

“They seem to be getting hungrier,” Remus said, darkly. 

“Starve ‘em all, if I could. Got no business being around any sort of person,” Sprout snarled, her bramble of curls quivering.

“Suppose we had been students,” he said quietly.

“Exactly. We’ll have to report this.”

He gave a toneless ‘hm’ of agreement, staring down at his hands. They sat in silence again until she nudged his arm with her boot and he looked up at her. “Those were hers,” she said in an oddly tender voice, nodding at the mittens. “Hadn’t the heart to wear them and I figured you could do them more justice than moldering in some closet.”

His first genuine smile since the Dementor’s crept onto his face, sad though it was, and he said, “Maybe that will be my next Patronus.”

“Well, now it had better, or I’ll be very put out.”

“I will be sure to keep you informed,” his smile stretched wider. Rising, he helped her stiffly from her perch with a muffled groan of complaint and, together, they gathered their scattered spoils before Disapparating. 


	28. Payback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is determined to make himself useful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sorry it took so long! I'm going to attempt to update weekly (we'll see how that goes). This one gave me a TON of trouble and I have no idea why, but I pushed through it, didn't let myself second guess and rewrite too much, it's done and I'm moving on!

As the 3rd year Gryffindors filed out after class that afternoon, Remus allowed himself to sit back in his chair and scrub a weary hand across his face; It had been a fine enough class but the morning’s Dementor attack had left him feeling wrung out, despite the chocolate. He still had a dull ache that lingered in his deepest scars, like the cold that had permeated them in the Hogsmeade streets was refusing to leave. Absently, he massaged a particularly nasty one that was throbbing on his shoulder and grimaced.

“Professor?” He opened his eyes with a start. He had assumed from the growing quiet that everyone had already left, but he found Harry standing before his desk, looking eager. 

“Ah, hello, Harry. Did you have a pleasant holiday?” Tired as he was, his smile came easily at the sight of James’ son.

“Yeah, but I wanted to remind you; it’s the beginning of term? You said you would teach me…?” He trailed off expectantly, hitching his school bag higher on his shoulder.

“Ah yes.” ‘ _Ah yes’_ _indeed,_ he thought dryly at the guilty lurch in his stomach. _The thing that you have yet to find a solution for._ “Let me see...how about eight o’clock on Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough…. I’ll have to think carefully about how we’re going to do this…. We can’t bring a real Dementor into the castle to practice on….” _Yes, you’ve made a promise; is this really who you would like to fail?_ He smiled far more brightly than he felt. “I’ll have to ponder this, but I will see you then.”

Harry smiled and nodded, “See you then, Professor.”

Remus spent the rest of the day wracking his brain with increasing alarm for his solution. He stationed himself behind his desk, pulling out book after book, trying to see if there was a Charm he could replicate or a creature that invoked a similar response. This was done, however, without much hope. Most of his research of Dark creatures and magic was still fresh in his mind from his summer study and he knew Dementors to be a uniquely vicious creature in that respect; there was a reason they were used to guard Azkaban. Nothing affected humans in quite the same way and nothing was as repelled by a Patronus Charm. He had known this, honestly; the past few months had just been something of a blur and the logistics of lessons with Harry had never surfaced with any sort of strength behind them. He still wasn't used to having so much to do--outside of keep a job and a place to live. With the bare basics taken care of, the complexity of maintaining the rest of life still continued to take him by surprise.

He sighed and sat back in his chair, stretching his arms up and out before settling them on top of his head, gazing absently out the door. Filch scuffed down the hallway with a broom, grimly swiping at the stone floor.

It was in no way feasible or safe to confront a Dementor on the grounds and absolutely inconceivable to bring one into the school--besides the fact that they were incredibly dangerous, he did not fancy the Dementors as agreeable proponents for education and had no desire to ask one for a favor. Nor was he sure how he would going about doing so; ‘ _ Hello, sir and/or ma’am and/or predatory apparition, could I have a moment of your time?’ _ He snorted. Filch passed slowly again, stabbing randomly into corners with the broom bristles, and he grumbled darkly when he saw Remus through the doorway.

Remus held his hands up in apologetic surrender for daring to meet his gaze and Filch stomped away. With a sigh, he rose and stretched before going to stand by the window, gazing out his view across the frozen lake, glowing with a hazy light in the blue-grey gloaming. In truth, though he would get to spend time with Harry, he doubted it would be very enjoyable for either of them, if he ever found out how to facilitate the lessons. Harry having to hear his mother being murdered every time he failed to produce a Patronus--which was not something they even knew was even possible--and Remus having his own aversion to being near the things. Not to mention having to watch Harry suffer as he had on the train.

He ran a hand through his hair and grimaced to himself. Maybe this was a bad idea. Harry having this sort of trauma, having to relive it over and over again...even though the boy had asked, begged him, to teach him, should he really expect someone so young to be able to overcome his own despair and perform an advanced spell most adults don’t even know? Remus himself had learned it after he had left Hogwarts, when they were a part of the Order in the War. Perhaps he could teach Harry that way, just practice the spell repeatedly, with intention. He might produce it then--and it would certainly be easier than trying to manufacture the effects of a Dementor.

A brief flash of the desolation that had alm ost flattened him during the War reared up without warning. The memory of the time he had first confronted a Dementor in the fiel d, face to…not-face. Realizing that standing before this towering mass of despair was nothing like practicing in a classroom. Realizing that he was in no way prepared for every agony of every Change, every time he had heard the word ‘monster’, every bad thing that had ever laid him low had come crawling out of their holes in his mind. For Fenrir Greyback’s wolf-crazed eyes to glint at him from the dark of his childhood bedroom.  _ A latch shattering…. _

Remus forced himself to see the twilight frosted lake instead, to put this palm against the cold glass in front of him, and breathe slowly.  _ Control. Don't get sucked down.  _ The memory and fear was fresher, rose more easily than it had in years; no doubt due to the morning’s encounter. He carefully drew in another deep breath and let it out in a trickle out past his pursed lips, focusing on the smell of woodsmoke, tea, and leather that permeated his office. No. People like Harry and himself didn't react to Dementors the same way as others. James had fought off that very same Dementor while Remus had been driven to his knees, frozen, no longer aware of where he was or what was happening; locked in the past. The boy was asking for a solution, not false hope. It would be even worse to teach him that way than to not teach him at all, for then, he would have tried and failed to protect himself--a reinforcement of his own helplessness. 

The distant sound of the scrape of a broom drew closer and Remus had to wonder exactly how long he had been ruminating, if Filch was approaching again. No matter. He was driving himself in circles and had no wish to be glared at again anyhow; grimly, he began packing up for the night. Perhaps he could ask Dumbledore for advice in the morning.

The next morning, he rose, stiffly, in part due to the cold, and in part from what felt like a Dementor hangover, of sorts. Lovely. Mercifully, he didn't have his first year Slytherins until the afternoon, so he took his time dressing and stretching before he set off for breakfast, Honeyduke’s haul in tow. Without the convenient concentration of gift receivers--as there would have been at, say, a  _ holiday gift exchange _ \--he would have to hand them out as he encountered each person and hunt down the stragglers at the end of the day. 

Luckily, there were a fair amount in the Great Hall and he handed them down the table. Sinestra got a sort of honeycomb on a stick that made you smell flowers for an hour following, which seemed to delight her. Trelawney, who was actually there that morning, cooed appreciatively as she received chocolate covered pretzel sticks with ancient runes carved in them, and set about sorting them around her plate. Professor Burbage and Madame Hooch apparently liked plain chocolate frogs, and seemed surprised by his gifts, but thanked him all the same, waving off apologies of lateness. “Don't bite the hand that feeds you chocolate, I always say!” Professor Burbage said brightly, then froze and cast him a mortified look.

It took him a moment to figure out she was realizing the faux pas of making a biting joke to a werewolf. He just gave a small smile and said, “A good policy, to be sure.” She flushed and busied herself with opening a frog.

When Remus reached McGonagall, he met her eyes with a level smile as he handed her the lemon meringue bites and tried not to feel a little smug when she merely rolled her eyes and accepted the gift. “It wasn't some sort of challenge, you know, not telling you about the exchange. It was an attempt at thoughtfulness. A failed one, apparently..”

His smile widened. “I haven't the faintest idea what you mean, Professor,” he said, cheerfully. 

She shook her head and popped open the top to fish one out.

On his way from the Great Hall, one of his 4th year Ravenclaw’s called out to him in passing. “Professor! Did you bring enough to share with the whole class?”

Remus smiled and shook his head at her. “Just catching up on some holiday gifts.”

She put a hand to her chest. “And none for me? I'm shocked and offended!”

“And you'll just have to stay that way, I'm afraid--If I tried to supply all of Hogwarts, I wouldn't be a Professor, I'd be some sort of sweets dealer.” He waved as he reached the doors.

“And what's wrong with that?” She called after him and he laughed.

“No, Fatima; goodbye!” Remus answered without turning around and left for the staffroom, passing Filch, who was lurking near the door and scowling at him.

He had planned to give the caretaker a gift as well, but Sprout had cautioned him strongly against it. “Oh, like a  lemon , he is, around Christmas, even more than usual--always finds something wrong with every little thing. No gift is good enough and, if I'm honest, I think he'd take it as more an insult, from you, if you actually got him something.” And so, he had refrained--probably from the best, judging on how sour his face was the Remus was even near him.

On the way, he ran into Flitwick and Hagrid talking in the hall, the difference in their heights almost ridiculously comical; Flitwick came up below Hagrid’s knee. But both seemed delighted with their gifts--for Flitwick the charmed violets and for Hagrid some massive Cauldron Cakes--and insisted he ‘didn't have to do that’.

”It feels rude to receive a gift but…not….” Flitwick trailed off sheepishly as he caught Remus’ wordless, widening smile and he sighed. “Point taken, Lupin. You got us back.”

“Always assuming the worst,” he said in mock injury as he continued on his way around the corner. “Not everything is about payback.” 

The fact that this most definitely was--at least partly--about payback was beside the point. 

In the staffroom, he found Dumbledore and Sprout already deep in grim conversation, both turning to him as he entered. “This is quite serious, Remus.”

_ No, I'm Sirius _ , rang through his head with the accompanying self-indulgent laugh so clearly that, for a few moments, he simply stared at Dumbledore's grave face, trying for the life of him to keep his mental footing in the here and now. To not skid back to the last time he has hear d Sirius’ voice, the last time he made that joke. The last time he had seen his burning eyes in the paper. His stomach clenched uneasily on the breakfast he had just eaten. He hated this. Hated how easy it was, lately, to just sweep the feet out from under him and crumple the pleasant glow from a good day. That there was just some pathway in his mind that all it needed was a simple remembered joke to tip him crashing into a series of suffocating memories he hadn't touched in years.  _ No. Stop. Come back. _

“What is, sir?” He forced out quietly, levelly. This was not the time. It should never be the time. He just hadn't been expecting it.

“The attack that you and Pamona experienced at Hogsmeade. She has just finished informing me and I find it deeply troubling.”

“As do I, sir.” 

“Would you both be willing to compose a letter to the Minister detailing your accounts and concerns?” At their nods, he nodded himself and looked out the window with hard eyes. He looked as though he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Cornelius believes I am biased and over-wary of the Dementors. I think he forgets what it was like, when Voldemort was in power,” Here, Sprout made a quiet, uneasy noise at the name, but Dumbledore continued. “What he promised Dark Creatures with no scruples--indeed, it is more comfortable to believe everything will be alright instead of taking measures to ensure it  _ is _ so. They are not allies, nor are they controlled by the Ministry. They do as we ask because their goals are achieved by fulfilling our own and when that relationship ceases to be more trouble to them than it's worth….” He opened his long hands palm up in an elegantly eloquent invitation for them to imagine the worst. 

The twin looming darknesses of Sirius and Dementors stalking Harry through the Halls flashed across his mind. The blank soulless forms of Luna and Neville crumpled to the floor. Fatima cowering in a classroom as shadows slid by. His first years screaming…. He shook himself free and shuddered. Sprout looked pale. The heavy somber silence lay across the room until Dumbledore rose and seemed to remember himself. “Thank you for telling me. I assume you have tended to yourselves after such an encounter?”

“Aye--ate a whole boatload of chocolate, actually. We'd just come from Honeyduke's,” Sprout said.

The rattled feeling was beginning to subside, slowly, but his light hearted mood was gone, squashed beneath the weights of Dementors and traitors. “Yes,” he answered.

Dumbledore eyed him a moment more, then said, “Good. I'm going to speak with a few Professors to see if they will accompany the next few Hogsmeade trips to ensure nothing like this happens to any students. Pamona, I know you have Head of House duties, but would either of you have the time to contribute?” 

“When it doesn't come too close to the full moon, I could.”

Sprout sighed and heaved herself from her chair. “I'll check my schedule and get back to you on that, Albus.”

It wasn't until they all parted ways that he realized he'd forgotten to give them their gifts and ask for Dumbledore's advice on how to teach Harry the Patronus Charm. Wonderful. He sighed. His already soured mood plummeted even further when he rounded the corner and saw Snape, at a distance, coming down the corridor, sallow, greasy, and lost in thought. He hadn’t had any lengthy interactions with the man since Halloween, only been subjected to brief sneers and subtle jabs whenever they were forced to confront each other when Severus brought him his Wolfsbane potion; seeing how Snape seemed to be incapable of functioning as a respectful adult, coworker, and teacher, the lack of contact was how Remus preferred it, actually.

In the beginning of the year, his guilt had kept him from fully accepting that Severus was just determined to be a hateful person and, his deserving of any bitterness toward Remus that he might have caused notwithstanding, he didn’t have the right to mistreat the children. That’s what was truly unforgivable to him, above all, causing the students fear. He briefly entertained ducking back around the corner, as his emotional reserves had just been chopped much shorter than he anticipated and he had absolutely no desire to endure whatever mood Snape decided to inflict upon him today. But he chided himself for a coward.  He was no child who had to fear some sort of lasting suffering as a student because Snape couldn’t control his ire ; he was no Harry, no Neville. 

Something in the back of his mind perked up at that, alert and humming. Neville...what? There was something. He stopped walking, puzzled and stared hard at Snape approaching, frowning. It almost seemed as if an idea was also approaching at his heels, from afar, closer every second, enlightenment slowly encroaching like the dawn. What? Neville and Snape? Fear? His sudden stop seemed to startle Snape out of his reverie and when he raised his eyes, their gazes met and a sneer curled across his lips. Oh. It clicked. Oh. Oh! _Oh!_  Neville’s boggart. _Boggart!_ Harry’s boggart was a Dementor. _Yes! That’s it!_  Surprised delight spread an involuntary smile across his face, making Snape blink, doubt flashing in his eyes. Remus almost laughed. 

Instead, he said, brightly,  “Good morning, Severus! I have something for you!”

Immense distrust and disgust warred on the man’s face, but nonetheless, he slowed and crossed his arms. “What.” He said flatly, black eyes glittering.

Still smiling elatedly, he made a show of rummaging through the Honeyduke’s bag hanging off his arm and presented a box of plain toffees. “I was running late on my holiday shopping; Professor Sprout said you liked these. You’re one of the last ones.”

Snape was silent, looking at the box like Remus was handing him something dead and slightly rotting before slowly looking up into his face with a contemptuous disbelief. It was obvious he was going to make no move to take it. Remus truly hadn’t had a plan on how to present these to Severus--hadn’t gotten that far in his revenge gifting-- but not even his complete nonreaction put a damper on the relief and exhilaration he felt at knowing how he was at last going to help Harry. So he began walking and flipped the box toward Snape, startling him into instinctively catching it against his chest. “Happy Holidays, Severus!” He practically caroled over his shoulder and restrained himself from adding, ‘thanks for the great idea’ for further befuddlement; no need for open antagonism when he now had the upper hand as a thoughtful gift giver and reasonable adult. Ah, weaponized kindness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remus likes to pretend he doesn't know how much of a little shit he's being.


	29. Boggart Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is not as young as he used to be.

The evening after class found him pawing through the old textbooks, goblets, stain-spotted silk scarves, small bundles of purple sticks that smelled of some sort of spice, boxes upon boxes of feathers of all kinds of the Charms closet, sneezing and unsuccessful. No boggarts to be found.  _ Still _ , he rallied himself,  _ the castle is huge--there’s bound to be one somewhere.  _

Remus continued searching through empty classrooms and their supply closets by the light of his wand and slowly waning moon peeking in through the dusty windows; for all that Filch seemed to be inexplicably more active the last few days, many of the room’s disuse was evident. More than once, he hadn’t had much to search in a room stripped bare of everything but the curtains. Somewhere around 9 o’clock and the 4th little stash of rodent carcasses in various states of disintegration he had accidentally put his hand in--obviously, a little trophy collection for Mrs. Norris--his searching took a somewhat grim caste. Yet, he pressed on. He truly scoured every room; he opened desks, drawers, rustled disused and musty cloaks on their racks. 

Puffing, he drew himself out from underneath a wardrobe in the Transfiguration classroom and sat back on his heels, wiping his forehead with the back of his dusty hand. 18 years ago and he would have slithered in and out of every nook and cranny of this whole castle without hardly breaking a sweat; indeed he had, on countless occasions. He might be only 32, but life and repeated monthly bone twisting transformations had not been kind to his body and he felt an aching fatigue settling into his muscles. It would be infinitely earlier to just float it out of the way, but if there were a boggart hiding beneath something, revealing it completely would only make it flee to a new hiding spot and he'd have to start all over again. Which, not only was he extremely reluctant to do, he wasn't at all sure that he  _ could _ .

He had never been prone to more vigorous bouts of activity than the average person, even in his youth, but he had always seemed to tire easier and recover slower than his friends. As he grew older--(though, granted, the feeling of relative age had skewed in his favor, spending so much time with professors at least 20 to 50 years his senior)--he'd found that that had only worsened over time. By the time his silver hair and premature lines had come in, he'd accepted that lycanthropy was just not conducive to living a long, healthy life. Too much stress, too much pain, too many Changes and injuries. While he had recognized this fact, it still didn't make him happy. 

Standing with a stifled groan, he levered himself to his feet scanned the room one last time, holding his wand high to cast light about the whole room. All at once, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Looking behind himself, he spotted Filch, not truly on the doorway, but lurking near enough in the shadows, looking at him. There was a brief moment of silence where both of them stared at each other in the pale wand light while Remus ran through a number of possible responses and settled on offering, “... Hello, Argus.” 

The caretaker screwed up his face in a grimace and scoffed indignantly before stomping off down the hall, face red. Remus stared after him.  _ What on Earth? _ His refusal to treat him with the most basic of courtesies was neither new nor particularly troubling--when he did something to ingratiate himself to Filch,  _ then _ he would worry. But the look in his face had been almost embarrassed. And for him to be actively… _ spying,  _ he supposed was an accurate enough term, was just odd. 

Come to think of it, Remus thought back as he stifled a sneeze and fumbled in his robe pockets for a handkerchief, Filch had been hovering around much more often, the past few days. He'd seen him practically everywhere he went. As he blew his nose and stared in dismay at the grey smear his face had left on the cloth, he decided that anything nefarious that Argus was planning, short of murder, was probably something that future-Remus would have the energy to deal with, seeing how he was beginning to have doubts about making it back to his room with all his limbs still operating. In the end, he managed--barely--and just kicked off his shoes before crawling into bed and falling asleep immediately.

Remus awoke on Wednesday fiercely berating himself for letting his 3rd year Gryffindor's permanently banish the first boggart he had acquired. The ache from yesterday's various activities had solidified into an acute, bruised stiffness that had him hobbling about as he got ready, fighting a mounting irritation with himself. The only sort of bright side he could see was that he hadn't been fool enough to try this any closer to the full moon; then, he would have been in trouble. He could just imagine Snape knocking on his door, griping about Remus’ apparent lack of gratitude for the Wolfsbane potion he was supposed to come take and finding him lying face down on the middle of the floor where he had tried to roll for assistance, but ended up dying from  impaling himself on his wand _.  _ Or just sheer stupidity. _ And wouldn't that just delight him.  _

_ My, aren't we in a pleasant mood today. _

He sighed and scrubbed a hand across the back of his head before attempting some perfunctory stretches, then just amended to avoid Madam Pomfrey’s gimlet eye she'd aim at his tottering. With a grimace, he peeled off last night's musty, dusty robes and limped to go wash up. 

Feeling marginally more awake, he resumed his search, feeling the looming shadow of Thursday creeping ever closer. He did not want to fail Harry--he would not. He scoured the nooks of the Astronomy tower, Professor Trelawney's warm, cloying attic, and the dark and dusty corners of the higher rafters in the Owlery, crusted with half-dried owl droppings. Nothing but more dust and the need for a quick _ evanesco-- _ general grime, he was willing to endure. Animal dung on his sleeves and hands, he was not.

He asked Madame Hooch to unlock the Quidditch shed, filled with worn padding, quivering bludger boxes, and the rows of wall mounted school brooms. He clambered his way past a veritable mountain of broom-handle wax and satchels full of House coded uniform-robes to check the spider-infested corners, speared by tiny strains of light in between the wall boards. The wood and leather, the worn, earthy scent of it all made his heart catch painfully in his chest, the ghost of James’ laugh echoed through his mind. Remus paused, eyes closed, to at once catch his breath and allow the dull throbbing in his chest to slowly fade. The times they had met James in the locker room before a match, when they would walk back with him after practice on soft spring nights when the earth still radiated the warmth of the day, laughing; his stupid Snitch he had stolen… _ ”You think they’d let me keep this?” _

_ No, no mourning--action. Search. Help Harry. _

Remus asked Professor Sprout if he could check the greenhouse cellar; nothing but  specialized fertilizers, piles of shears, trowels, earmuffs, pots of all sizes and material--clay, metal, wood, some sort of gemstone. It didn't smell very pleasant; fertilizers, no doubt. Though, it may have also been the rather ominous, bolted shut barrel in the back corner that gave off a strong aroma of rotting meat.

He searched the cupboards filled with glittering trinkets in Dumbledore's office, the back pantries of the kitchens--the House Elves needed to be reassured, numerous times, that he was not doubting their cleaning skills and was, instead there for a very specific reason and, no thank you, he didn't need a snack, though it was very kind of--it was dinner time? Oh…well, then, maybe a bit of something, for old times sake, thank you. And so he didn't pass out somewhere isolated because he was fool enough to ignore both the time and his stomach.

The Dungeons were dark and damp and, luckily, empty of most humans, including Snape. Not, however, empty of Filch. Remus had seen the man lurking about several times that day, out of the corner of his eye, always glowering at him from afar or from around a corner. Thus far, he had restrained himself from feeling more than a sort of bemusement that was this side of irritation; he had other things he needed to focus his limited energy on. But as he left the Potions classroom wiping some excess slime off on the hem of his already worse for wear robe, he nearly knocked into the man. Filch snarled, “Watch where you're going!”

Remus bit the inside of his cheek against a tart remark about how the caretaker was the one who was hovering near doorways lately and watched him hurry off with mounting frustration. There was no reason he could fathom for Filch  _ stalking  _ him but, for fear of sounding self centered, that seemed to be exactly what the man was doing. Should he seek him out, confront him? Tell Dumbledore?  _ And tell him what? ‘Professor, Argus was LOOKING at me!”  _ Remus shook his head, winced at the twinge of pain  _ that  _ sent down his back, and went back to work. 

The longer he searched, he truly felt the wear of 2 days climbing stairs, bending down, lifting things, clambering up things, pulling things. His back and joints were extremely displeased and unhelpful. His hands were having trouble closing. When an empty pail teetered off the edge of a shelf of Snape's broom cupboard and cracked him square in the head-- _ taking on the spiteful nature of its owner, no doubt _ \--Remus cursed out loud and backed out, clutching his head. And saw Filch right beside him, staring. The pain making his eyes sting and the hours of absolutely fruitless labor had stolen all his patience; so, he rubbed his head and glowered right back. “ _ What.”  _

Filch bristled. “What?”

“What do you  _ want _ , Argus? Is there a reason you are suddenly omni-present and seem to  _ hate _ it?”

Filch scoffed and folded his arms. “Well, you're the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, aren't you?”

“...I am…”

“ _ Well?” _

Remus stared at him a moment, incredulous and harassed. “‘Well’ _ what,  _ Argus _? _ ”

The caretaker screwed up his dark red face and practically bellowed. “IT'S YOUR JOB TO GET RID OF DARK CREATURES!

Feeling wild eyed himself, after the fruitless, painful, dusty days he had just had, answered at nearly the same volume, “YES, IT IS!”

“ _ WELL _ ?”

“WELL. WHAT. ARGUS.”

“WELL, HELP ME WITH IT!”

Remus thrust his hands out imploringly toward the man, begging for a clue, for the only alternative was to rip out his own hair. “WITH.  _ WHAT!  _ ARGUS?”

Filch puffed himself up and roared, “THE! BOGGART! IN! MY! OFFICE!”

“THERE'S A **_BOGGART_** IN YOUR OFFICE?!” He yelped, the volume in his voice instantly transmuting into a mixture of excitement and surprise, but Filch seemed to take it as disbelief, for his fists balled up at his sides.

“ARE YOU CALLING ME A  _ LIAR _ ? YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW WHAT A BOGGART IS?!”

“NO!” Remus caught himself and cleared his throat, face heating. “Erm, I mean, no. No, I believe you, I'm sorry, I just…ah…long...long day.”

He trailed off and they stared at each other, Filch breathing hard. “Ah….” Remus cleared his throat, straightened his robe, and gestured toward him. “After you, then.”


	30. With Friends Like These...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus gets what he wanted and has no fun on the way. Well...maybe a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long ass hiatus--life and that ADHD brain got me distracted. Special bonus for the wait, though; most of the next chapter is already written and should be up some time tomorrow!

The caretaker's mood hadn't improved since their--frankly, embarrassing--shouting match and after he had unlocked his office with an old, grungy looking key, he planted his feet as Remus went in. He looked back out at Filch curiously, but all the man did was stare at him sourly with his arms crossed, face still red. Obviously, he didn't want to trigger the boggart and expose his deepest fear. Not unreasonable, Remus had to admit, as he was not too eager to do so himself. And, considering his obvious humiliation at merely asking for help, Remus doubted he was prone to the sort of emotional vulnerability that would require. Unfortunate, that, as it would have saved both of them a great deal of frustration over the past few days if he had just been able to ask in the first place instead of trailing him like some sort of ill-tempered stalker, unable to put away his dislike of him long enough to ask him for help.

 _It is what it is, it will be what it will be._ At least his search was over, the slowly mounting panic that he would not find anything in time was quenched. He would not be failing Harry. That in itself was like a sigh of relief and he felt it loosen his shoulders, his chest, his forehead. He couldn’t bear to have failed another Potter.

Filch’s office was just as dingy and oppressive as he remembered as a child; the same thicket of filing cabinets, the same ominous chains hung behind his desk--though now they sparked a twinge of revulsion, rather than fear. Returning to this place as he grew older revealed exactly how much pedagogical chicanery he had simply accepted as necessary fact as a student. The idea of such a punishment being used on a student, someone like Harry or Neville... _Oh, we indeed are changing, aren’t we?_ Even just the implied threat of them was enough to set his teeth on edge. Grimly, he turned back to Filch, drawing his wand from his robe, rolling up his sleeves. “Where is it, Argus?” He asked, carefully keeping his voice polite.

Filch grunted and jerked his chin at a corner cabinet, one of the drawers pulled out halfway with a slew of papers strewn beneath it. “In there. Popped out when I opened it, few days ago. Haven’t gone near it.” He resumed glaring at Remus, as if it were his personal fault--maybe even his devious plan--that such a thing had found its way into his office. _Granted_ , Remus thought, _going back roughly 20 years, that wouldn’t have been out of the realm of possibility_.

“Do you have a box of some sort? A chest?”

Filch made a scornful noise. “I’m not a novelty shop.”

“My mistake.” he said lightly. “ I suppose it isn’t fair to assume you should keep track of _all_ those sorts of things. Well, I've done some exploring in my time, I'm sure I could dredge up something….” Pocketing his wand, he started to move toward the door.

Filch seemed to bristle like his cat and swiped a hand through the air to make him stay where he was, snarling as he stomped away, “I _know_ where they _are_.”

Remus laced his hands behind him as he waited, stifling an unseemly chuckle-- _really, Remus_ \--as he innocently scanning the pages scattered on the ground, presumably dropped in shock at the appearance of the boggart. Filch must have been refiling, for this parchment seemed older than those piled on his cluttered desk, yellowed and stained, bearing the dates--

He blinked. _That’s…._

Stooping, he drew his wand a cautiously sidled up to crouch by the file cabinet, lifting a few pages from the floor, eyes on the cabinet. No movement from the drawer. He backed off, back to the doorway and read;

_ttigrew caught with contraband material. Confiscated. Reported. Punishment unadministered._

**_ALL FILES PERTAINING TO SIRIUS BLACK, JAMES POTTER, REMUS LUPIN, AND PETER PETTIGREW ARE FORTHWITH COMPILED INTO A SINGLE DOCUMENT FOR  FILING SPACE_ **

_NOVEMBER 20th, 1974_

_Black and Potter caught out of bed. Claimed to be sleep walking. Reported. Punishment unconfirmed._

_DECEMBER 2nd, 1974_

_ALL THE QUILLS FROM THE STAFF ROOM ARE GONE IT WAS THEM I CAN'T PROVE IT BUT I KNOW THOSE_

(here, it devolved into a string of rather spectacular and slightly illegible cursing)

_DECEMBER 13th, 1974_

_Black, Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew all caught at the edge of the Forest. Claimed they weren't going in. Reported. No punishment administered. Ludicrous._

_DECEMBER 15th, 1974_

_Black refuses REFUSES to stop throwing tinsel everywhere he goes. He claims it's not him, but I've SEEN it after he leaves a room. I've confiscated it all, there is no more tinsel on the tree, it is contraband whERE IS HE GETTING THIS TINSEL DUMBLEDORE CLAIMS IT'S FESTIVE AND I CAN'T PROVE IT I CAN'T BELIE_

_DECBER 15t 1974 secnd enrty_

_MI NIATURE REIND E E R HOW THIS IS N_

**_FULL BRIEFING FOR THE MONTH OF DECEMBER 1974 HAS BEEN MOVED AND COMPILED INTO SEPARATE DAMN FILE SEE CABINET E_ **

He almost began to feel sorry for the man again, until he glanced at the well-oiled chains hanging eagerly on the wall. Perhaps not. An odd combination of bright mirth and aching longing twisted within his chest. Oh, the reindeer had been complicated, hadn't they; quite the illegal charm bauble Sirius had had squirreled away from Knockturn Alley.…

The muttered cursing and puffing of the returning Filch stopped him from reading more but he did not hide the parchment as the caretaker came in, face now a sticky shade of maroon and slammed a packing trunk down on the floor. Filch's eyes darted to the file, but Remus just smiled pleasantly and said, “Thank you.”

“What's that.”

He gestured with the parchment to the pile on the floor. “My file, it seems. Or, our file. Part of it. It's...ah….” _Amusing_ was going to be his next word, but the curdled look on Filch's face made him reconsider. “Quite a read.”

Filch said nothing, watery eyes venomous, glaring at him as if he was a particularly revolting stain that wouldn't come out of a rug. _Well, back to business, it seems._ He could not ever remember the caretaker being so tight lipped before, when he was a student, being on the receiving end of a countless number of tirades and threat laden rants. _Do we only punch down, Argus?_ He wondered, dryly. _Not willing to pick on someone your own size?_ Sirius had always teased that he had an overdeveloped sense of justice.

_And we see how that turned out…_

Remus shook his head, tight lipped, and planted himself firmly in this space _. Enough. No more stalling._ He let the parchment flutter to the floor. “Close the door, if you would, please."

With wand, he popped the lid on the trunk and spun it facing the file cabinet. Then, he took firm hold of the drawer handle and pulled it wider as he heard the door snap shut.

Immediately, the boggart boiled from the cobwebbed depths, congealing as a huge, sickly moon before him, drawing the same jolt of reflexive nausea and panic it always did. His mind knew it was a creature vainly trying to scare him, his body only knew that such a sight meant agony, terror, and loss. Wand steadily aimed, Remus couldn't help a glance at Filch, to find he was nowhere to be seen, door shut--probably around the corner in the corridor. Fair enough. He might have figured whatever would scare a werewolf would not be something he wanted to see.

Raising his wand, he settled on the spell to force it in--and hesitated. Pushed the drawer so it slid shut, leaving the boggart nowhere to return to. The moon edged nervously sideways, slowly, as if looking for a way out. Curiously, he stepped back until he was almost against the opposite wall, giving it ample room and watched the orb bobble before turning his back on it, as if considering something interesting in the rough grey stone. The faint glow that had silvered the edges of the cabinets and chains abruptly disappeared as a scrape and a thunk rang out behind him. When he turned back, the trunk had been pushed a bit off center, the lid shut, as if something had thrown itself inside at speed.

Well. No need to over-complicate things, it seemed. Not all boggart captures were so easy, especially in his experience, but with such a small room with no place big enough to squeeze into, it had taken the bait. All very humane and so simple, a Muggle could do it; though, after its first few trips in and out of the trunk, he doubted that would still be the case. He knelt by the trunk, securing it both physically and magically before levitating it beside him. It rattled, agitated at the movement, but was otherwise inert. He was about to open the door and bring back his prize, triumphant, sore, and quite dusty, when he hesitated again and looked back to the pile of files on the ground. Pensively, he rubbed a hand over his chin. _It couldn't hurt…._

Filch was indeed down the corridor, far from the door as he lovingly stroked Mrs. Norris, who was curled up in his arms. As he approached, they both glanced up with identical, baleful looks.  “Successfully removed, Argus. Thank you, by the way--I've been looking for one of these everywhere.”

The caretaker looked as if he rather detested the idea that he had made Remus’ life easier, but managed an aggressive shrug. “Just get it gone from here is all I want.”

“You're welcome,” said Remus, though Filch had said nothing close to prompting this, which seemed to irritate the man more. Remus began to fancy some part of himself was doing that on purpose. “Oh--I had a question; probably impertinent of me--”

“Unsurprising,” Filch muttered, which Remus chose not to hear.

“--but about that file, I was wondering….” He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if I could have it.”

Filch was silent for a long moment, eyes going between Remus’ face, the trunk, and the door to his office, mouth twisting as he scowled suspiciously, obviously weighing something. Mrs. Norris gave a warbling yowl, for Filch’s hands had stilled. Frankly, as the moments passed, Remus was surprised that he seemed to be considering it at all, as he had known full well what the answer would be the moment he had asked. He mentally braced to give a friendly face to whatever biting remark was coming.

Then, Filch grunted, “Fine.”

Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise, “Oh. Well, tha-”

Filch continued, “It's not like anyone who cares about it is alive anymore,” He eyed him. “'Cept you.”

Remus smile went cool around the abrupt squeeze in his chest, hand tightening on his wand that guided the trunk. “...Thank you. For your generosity,” he said, mildly.

Another grunt as he stumped past him into his office. The door slammed, leaving him alone in the corridor with the boggart and an ache from the well placed blow. How was it that conversations with Severus and Argus always made him feel as if he was dueling _? Quite the feint. Nice wind up_ ; _hit square in the gut._ Well. He had gotten everything he wanted, hadn't he? A rewarded search and a momento; success by any definition. _Slightly tarnished, perhaps…._

Filch returned sans cat, brandishing a file sleeve of parchment thick enough to be a text book, which he dropped without much care into Remus’ arms. Then, he left without a word. And returned with another file, more disorganized and crammed haphazardly, making it bulge more than the first. And again, 2 more times, each seeming bigger than the last, until Remus’ fingers were clinging desperately around the bottom lip of the stack and his already protesting arm muscles began to tremble slightly. Something like 10 files, all thick enough to be stocked on the library as a manuscript reached past his chin, braced against his cheekbone, smelling of mildew, dust, and dry parchment. Filch gave him a dubious, appraising look and growled, “That’s it.”

With difficulty and partly bracing the stack with his knee, Remus managed to free his wand to tap the stack. Immediately, the weight lightened considerably, allowing him to hold it in one hand, the other steadying the top and he looked back at Filch and gave a pleasant smile. “Thank you, aga--” he began, but all he saw was the back of Filch’s threadbare robe as he returned to his office wordlessly.

He looked down at the packing case, hovering demurely near his knees. “Well, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I've realized that feedback is literally currency for updates for how my writing seems to work so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	31. The First Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Harry take their new boggart out for a spin. Remus has...a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [AN: The dialogue that happens between Remus and Harry is straight out of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and belongs to J.K. Rowling; I'm using it to reframe the scene from Remus' point of view. No copyright infringement is intended]

Thursday began as a hectic mix of double Defense Against the Dark Arts with his 7th year Slytherins---3 of whom stayed behind to request further explanation of his lecture on 3rd century wizard-philosopher’s thoughts on the ethical implications of the Unforgivable Curses on human killing magical beasts, which was not a subject he was all that well-versed in himself---further catch up work from the last full moon and the last two days of searching, grading essays, beginning to write mock O.W.L. exams for his panicking 5th years, sending an order from the owlery for some lightly cursed quills for his 6th years, and remembering to shovel some food into himself so he didn’t expire. And worrying. 

Worrying about Harry. Worrying about the boggart. Worrying about how advanced the Charm was--it was not easy magic and on top of that, needing to have enough of a grasp on your emotions and memories to work them into a shield….Was he expecting too much from a 13 year old? Was he being unfair to even offer this as an option, giving him false hope? And on the other hand, who was he to decide what was too advanced for Harry? He was undoubtedly as smart as James, as smart as Lily. Would Dumbledore agree? Was that why Remus had not so much as asked permission as planned on begging forgiveness if this blew up in his face? Was he being reckless, too naive and nostalgic at having a chance to spend time with Harry to truly and dispassionately consider all of the implications of his actions? He thought of Harry and the the intense determination on his young face, James’ face; James’ son. Lily’s son. Remus’...Harry. Remus sighed and handed the envelope containing his order to the large school owl that stepped down onto his arm. It clamped it in its sharp beak and made a soft, acknowledging noise before pushing off and soaring out the window. 

No. He doubted very much that being dispassionate was an option for him when Harry was involved. And was that dangerous? Was some hidden part of him viewing this as a second chance to feel that old belonging? He knew that Harry was his own person, with a separate history, knew that very well. Did his heart? Was his need to help and guide and protect just some sort of selfish desire to shoehorn himself into this child’s life? Did he deserve that? Well, he knew the answer to that. No, no he did not. Where had he been, in the time of greatest need? What had he done? Failed to save the boy’s family--failed to  _ be _ the boy’s family as he had hidden away in the Muggle world. 

He stared out into the night, leaned on the Owlery’s windowsill, watching the silent form of the bird swoop into the frozen dark with his letter. Was he doing the right thing? 

He blinked. Dark...it was dark. With a start, he checked his watch before clattering down the stairs at speed, wincing as his overworked legs protested.  _ You’ve spent all day agonizing over something you’re going to miss BECAUSE of your agonizing?  _ He cursed himself as he dashed back to his rooms to grab the trunk and stash of chocolate frogs he had collected in preparation.

As he arrived, only 5 minutes late, he saw that Harry had already lit the lamps and was perched on the lip of a desk in the back of the room. He stood as Remus entered at a somewhat more stately pace, having caught his breath at the end of the hall---’ _ why are you late to class, Professor?’--- _ to not cut such a harried figure in front of someone he was supposed to be teaching. As he heaved the trunk up into Binns’ desk, Harry drew closer, at once looking curious and apprehensive. “What's that?”

Taking off the cloak he had worn up to the freezing Owlrey, he answered, “Another boggart. I've been combing the case ever since Tuesday, and, very luckily, I found this one lurking inside Mr. Filch's filing cabinet.” ‘Found’ being a very liberal use of the term, he had to admit. Was grudgingly made aware of? He laid his cloak down on the desk beside the case and continued, “It's the nearest we'll get to a real Dementor. The boggart will turn into a Dementor when he sees you, so we'll be able to practice on him. I can store him in my office when we're not using him; there's a cupboard under my desk he'll like.”

“Okay,” Harry said, a little too brightly for how wary he looked as he eyed the case. 

_ You'll do just fine,  _ almost came out automatically but he stifled it; Harry didn't seem the type that would appreciate baseless platitudes… Or was that James?  _ Careful _ .  _ Don't lose sight of who this is,  _ he warned himself and drew his wand. “So…” he nodded to Harry's wand pocket and the boy quickly drew it. “The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry---well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm.”

Harry's dubious look grew at that. “How does it work?” He sounded uncertain.

_ Am I doing the right thing? If Harry himself is unsure….  _ He said nothing of it, merely answered, “Well, when it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus, which is a kind is anti-Dementor---a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the Dementor. The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon---hope, happiness, the desire to survive---but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the Dementors can’t hurt it.” He hesitated minutely, then said. “But I must warn you, Harry, that the charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it.” 

Harry merely looked thoughtful and asked, “What does a Patronus look like?”

“Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it.”

“And how do you conjure it?”

“With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating with all your might, on a single, very happy memory.” Admittedly, Remus was not the best at that part, himself; tended too often to hoard them like precious gems, scattering them to brief flashes of facets in his panic. Very rarely did he ever produce a corporeal Patronus. Though he very rarely wished to, knowing what it was, what it meant.  _ Wolf. _ He pushed the thought aside.

Harry seemed to thinking, black brows furrowed behind his glasses, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He very much hoped that this intensity and stretching silence was because he had too many to choose from and waited patiently, watching his eyes scan, focused on things Remus had never seen. As Harry thought, Remus waved his wand over the case, unlocking both the physical and magical locks but put a hand on the lid, leaning on it as, finally, Harry squinted pensively and said, “Right.”

“The incantation is this---” Clearing his throat, Remus said clearly. “ _ Expecto Patronum! _ ”

The boy nodded unconsciously, wiggling his shoulders as if squaring up for a fight, muttering, “ _ Expecto Patronum...Expecto Patronum…. _ ”

Remus bit his lip to keep the smile from his voice---Harry was almost scowling in his intense focus and reminded him, “Concentrating hard on your happy memory?”

“Oh---yeah---”a sheepish look took over his face a moment, before scrunching back up. “ _ Expecto Patrono-- _ ”  Remus opened his mouth to correct him when he continued, “no,  _ Patronum-- _ -sorry--- _ Expecto Patronum, Expecto Patronum---” _

Amused, Remus almost said,  _ ‘there’s no need to apologize to ME, this is for you,’  _ when a short flash of silver darted from Harry’s wand and was gone in an instant. But with it brought delight, for Harry’s shining face turned to him as he exclaimed, “Did you see that? Something happened!”

He grinned back, thrilled beyond measure-- _ of course, of course you would thrive, smart, talented boy that you are _ \---”Very good. Right, then---ready to try it on a Dementor?” Harry’s enthusiasm was infectious.

“Yes,” Harry said firmly, backing to the center of the cleared floor, holding his wand at the ready. The pinched brows were back, his gaze laser focused on the trunk. 

Remus moved so he gripped the edge of the lid and pulled it open, eyes not on the revealed contents but on Harry's face. As the lights guttered and the painful, bone deep wash of frozen air billowed from the case, the steely look warred with uncertainty, behind his glasses. The tall figure loomed from the depths, started forward. He did not step back. Brandishing his wand, he bellowed, _“Expecto Patronum!”_ Nothing; the Dementor-boggart flexed its scabby hands, drew nearer. Fear slipped onto his face--and something like recognition. _“Expecto Patronum! Expecto--”_

Remus’ own wand flashed out as the boys knees buckled, arm sagging and eyes rolling up and, as he did, Harry's collapse slowed. He slipped to the floor as if he were a leaf on the wind instead of a lead weight. He turned to the boggart, stepping firmly in its sight until iit twisted back to that swollen moon, and, as it did, the oppressive atmosphere shrank, the lights bloomed, his fingers warmed even as his stomach squeezed at the sight of it. With a muttered,  _ “Flipendo,”  _ and a flash of red light, the boggart thunked neatly back into the case, which he snapped shut. His hands were shaking as he turned back to Harry, who was twitching disconcertingly. For a moment, for just a moment, in the shadows he had looked like….

He knelt beside him, quickly. “Harry. Harry!” 

The boy’s head lolled and his opened his eyes, bewildered for a split second as he took in the ceiling. Then, his expression twisted to shame and frustration and he sat up, mumbling, “Sorry.”

This seemed so ludicrous that Remus was speechless for a moment--- _ for what, you’ve done nothing wrong--- _ but he didn’t want to embarrass him further and only anxiously asked, “Are you all right?”

“Yes….” He seemed to be avoiding his gaze as he hauled himself upright on a nearby desk.

“Here--” Remus dug a Chocolate Frog from the bag in his robe pocket and handed it to him. “Eat this before we try again. I didn’t expect you to do it your first time; in fact, I would have been astounded if you had.” Harry didn’t seem to realize what he was asking of him, here, it was ridiculous, it was beyond logic-- _ for God’s sake, don’t be SORRY. _

Harry chomped off the Frog’s head, looking green, rubbing the cold sweat from his forehead. “It’s getting worse,” he said quietly around the mouthful. “I could hear her louder that time---and him---Voldemort---”

Remus felt the blood drain from his face, his throat spasm. He swallowed, twice.  _ This...this is wrong. He was so young, he shouldn’t remember, shouldn’t have to.  _ With difficulty, he said, “Harry, if you don’t want to continue, I will more than understand---”  _ In fact, I beg you…. _

An identical Lily Evans-Potter flash of defiance caught in his eyes and he crammed the rest of the Frog in, saying, “I do! I’ve got to! What if the Dementors turn up at our match against Ravenclaw? I can’t afford to fall off again. If we lose this game, we’ve lost the Quidditch Cup!”

Remus didn’t know whether to laugh or wail, and settled instead for mentally throttling the ghost of James for somehow managing to possess his innocent and impressionable son, making him care about his idiotic sport more than his own mental well being.  _ Of course you can’t afford to fall off your broom again, you young dolt, but only because you have limited limbs, not Quidditch games!  _ “All right then….” He managed, “You might want to select another memory, a happy memory, I mean, to concentrate on….That one doesn’t seem to have been strong enough….” Considering what Harry seemed to be dead focused on, he would be lucky if it hadn’t been something to do with damnable  _ Quidditch _ .

As Harry rifled through his memories, Remus took up his station behind the lid, holding it tightly, jaw set. “Ready?”  _ Because I’m not…. _

His face was set. “Ready.”

“Go!”

The cold coil of dread that had congealed in the base of his stomach from the last “Dementor” appearance shuddered and spread as the dark cloak boiled out, quenching all the lights and warmth in the room. Remus’ bones ached. “ _ Expecto Patronum!”  _ Everything in him was screaming to intervene as he watched the thing advance on Harry, every protective instinct was thrashing about making his heart pound, his stomach roil. Harry’s grimaced, rebraced himself.  _ “Expecto Patronum!” _ His voice was faltering.  _ No….  _

_ I am watching their son witness their murder. _

The thought stole his breath because now, all he could see, all that was standing before him was James, wand outstretched in his last moments against Voldemort and he couldn’t--he couldn’t--

_ “Expecto Pat---” _

Harry was falling and he didn’t know if Harry had stopped speaking or if he had stopped hearing and he barely got his wand out in time to stop the boy from cracking his head on the ground. For a moment, he simply gripped the cold metal edge of the case and tried to unstick his breath from his locked throat and chest because James---Harry---was on the ground and he wasn’t moving and he wasn’t  _ doing  _ anything,  _ why didn’t you DO anything--- _

He was in front of the Dementor. It was a moon again. He slashed his wand and it retreated, the lid fell. He turned. The body on the floor wasn’t moving.  _ Please…. _ He was on his knees beside him, hands on his shoulders, solid and real. “James...wake---”  _ No, not then, not him.  _ He sucked in a breath and said, louder. “Harry!” The boy was too pale in the light Remus didn’t remember returning. His glasses askew. He slapped his cheek lightly--maybe not as lightly as he should, he shouldn’t be touching him but--- “Harry...wake up….” 

When Harry’s eyes opened, there was no comprehension; Remus was met with the tear-streaked gaze of a child who had just lost his parents and didn’t understand. There was no accusation in it but the question reverberated within his skull like the clang of a too large bell;  _ why?  _ The half choked answers darted about erratically within him--- _ this never should have---I’m so sorry I didn’t---If I had---you don’t deserve--- _ His hands fell from Harry’s shoulders.  He stared into the boy’s face as awareness began its slow dawning and struggled to find a good enough explanation for all the wounding by inaction Remus had done him. Why he had utterly failed him, let all this happen, was forcing him to relive it again and again….

“I heard my dad,” Harry slurred suddenly. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him---he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it….”

Remus had known this. “You heard James?” He heard himself ask, as if from a distance. His voice was strange, hollow. Harry should never have known this.  _ This is wrong.  _ Harry should never have had to hear this.  _ Am I doing the right thing? _ James. Lily. James. Harry….It was like he was on a record that kept skipping. James….

“Yeah….Why---you didn’t know my dad, did you?”

_ Did I  _ **_know_ ** _ your father.... _ ”I---” he sucked in a breath, tried to focus on Harry. “I did, as a matter of fact. We were friends at Hogwarts.”  _ What feeble words, what anemic past are you describing? I have a lifetime of your father in my head and all you, his son, can hear of him is his murder….  _ “Listen, Harry---perhaps we should leave it here for tonight,”  _ Forever. “ _ This charm is ridiculously advanced….”  _ This is literally torturing you.  _ “I shouldn’t have suggested putting you through this….”  _ No, no you shouldn’t have, what are you thinking, you selfish-- _

“No!” 

Remus couldn’t decide whether this was an outburst of  desperation or some sort of outrage at his perceived doubt, but Harry pushed himself to his feet once again. “I’ll have one more go! I’m not thinking of happy enough things, that’s what it is….Hang on….”

Harry balled up his fists in his concentration, eyes closed as Remus stood before him and stared.  _ What is the right thing to do. He wants this. He says he needs it. Is it my place to stop him seeking his own protection? Is it my place to let him retraumatize himself to do that? Who am I, in this place, with this boy; am I Professor Lupin? Am I James and Lily’s friend? Am I a responsible adult? Am I a dangerous and needy creature who craves closeness and fears the rejection of a child if I tell him ‘no’? And he fights against that which he cannot control; who is responsible for a fate that has made him accountable for more than he should ever have to bear, himself? Could it be anyone but him?  _ He could almost hear Lily’s dry voice ask,  _ Is this really the time for an existential crisis? _

Harry opened his eyes again and turned back to the case, jaw set and grip tight on his wand, held at the ready. Remus slowly backed up until he was once again behind the case. _Last chance to stop him…._ There was something of his parent’s combined stubbornness in his thin face and the steel in his eyes; he would keep coming back for more. _Last chance…._ “Ready?” Remus asked instead, absolutely certain neither of them were. _Is this trust or madness?_

“Concentrating hard? All right--go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This man is an anxious mess, y'all, my stomach was churning literally the whole time writing that, he is so uncertain of his own motivations. Also, surprise! 2 updates in one day woohoooo


	32. Victory and Defeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes Remus proud. Remus makes Remus sad.

The cold and the boggart poured out as one, cramping Remus’ fingers, lingering in his already-chilled scars, dousing the lights. Faces of the dead lingered murkily in his mind, like pale lenses to the past, beckoning for a descent down into madness--the War, the ever present fear of the wolf, the murders of his friends, of his enemies-- _ murderer-- _ -

The doubt within him rose to a pitch, causing such a thrashing within his gut he felt he might actually be sick, right there in the classroom; this was too much, too much for him, too much for Harry.  _ You should have stopped him, you should have stopped him, why are you so selfish--- “EXPECTO PATRONUM!” _

The strength in Harry’s voice slapped him upside the head, knocking the spiral of despair off its axis and he straightened, blinked. Harry’s feet were planted, eyes blazing.  _ “EXPECTO PATRONUM!”  _

The Dementor-boggart was still advancing, but Harry wasn’t crumpling. Something in Remus stilled, like the space between heart-beats, the moment between breaths, watching.  _ Yes…. _

**_“_ ** _ EXPECTO PATRONUM!”  _

The apparition paused, seeming uncertain and wary, seeming to sense what Remus sensed, that something was different this time. There was a moment of suspended time, with all 3 watching. And it was broken by silver pouring from Harry’s wand, a hazy and indistinct shadow that coalesced between Harry and his aggressor, defiant and tall...and vaguely familiar. A bright joy burst through his chest like a wave, clenching his fists in triumph but his celebration was cut short, because the boy’s knees gave a dangerous and distinct wobble.  _ Oh no, not this time, you will take your victory lap on your feet, _ he thought fiercely and shouted,  _ “Riddikulus!” _

A snap like a gunshot rang out as Harry dropped into a chair, head in his hands, but still conscious. The boggart, however, seemed to have had enough harassment for the night and refused to simply be knocked back into the case as the moon, feinting in aggravated jerks like some sort of football player looking to avoid an opponent. Remus had to actually cast a restraining jinx and wrestle it back in, alternating between shoving and pulling toward the case as the creature twisted and writhed within its bonds. Perhaps it was just as tired and hungry and scared as its captors. He couldn’t much bring himself to care at that moment, however, as he pinched himself in the lid of the case he finally slammed shut and leaned on while locking it again.  _ He did it, he  _ **_did_ ** _ it!  _ His bones and scars still throbbed, his body still ached and his stomach still churned but he found himself beaming as he turned back to Harry, still sunk on his seat. The hours of searching were nothing. The tearing maelstrom of his own howling anxiety was nothing to this. 

Remus was not sure he had ever taken so much delight in another’s victories--and it wasn’t even that he felt pride for having taught him, because, truly, he hadn’t. He had handed the boy the tools and the means to practice, but the accomplishment was his, all his. Remus hadn’t been able to make the Charm work for a week when they had practiced in the Order, and that had been in a safe, Dementor-less environment. Wrestling happiness into a shape that suited him had never been something he was adept at. But Harry--brilliant, clever, wonderful Harry had produced  _ something _ in his first practice. Remus approached him, rubbing the feeling back into his hands and grinning, “Excellent! Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!”  _ By God, he can  _ **_do_ ** _ it!  _

The doubt was gone. The uncertainty in what Harry could handle was gone. This boy knew strength. 

“Can we have another go? Just one more go?”

Remus could have laughed in disbelief.  _ Of course, you are your parent’s son.  _ How many times had he heard Lily say that, during practice with Moody?  _ ‘One more go.’  _

_ ‘Lily, your hand’s gone numb, I can see it, wiggle your fingers. Exactly.’ _

_ ‘So?’ _

_ ‘So that’s your wand hand.’ _

No,  _ this _ was time for the responsible adult, not the proud...whatever he was. Teacher. “Not now, you’ve had enough for one night.”  _ More than enough.  _ “Here---” he handed Harry what he had mentally dubbed the Grand Finale bar from Honeyduke’s, brought either as a consolation or a reward, and he had certainly earned it. “Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week?” 

“Okay,” Harry agreed as he unwrapped the chocolate as gnawed off a corner and Remus grinned. 

He went round tidying up and putting out the lamps when Harry said behind him, “Professor Lupin? If you knew my dad, you must’ve known Sirius Black as well.”

Abruptly, his stomach twisted and he nearly burnt himself on the flame he was extinguishing as he jerked around to stare at Harry. “What gives you that idea?” He said, sounding harsher than he had meant to. 

The feeling of being horribly transparent overwhelmed him. It was as if Harry could see everything---his failure as a friend, his failure as an Order member, his failure as a person. The lie that was his life. The hate and violence that soured him, the dark impulse to pay Sirius back in full for what he had done, for what he had taken away. If this boy thought Remus had anything to do with the man trying to kill him, he would never trust him, he would never take lessons again. If he thought that Remus had anything to do with Sirius’ infiltration and followed the same logic that Snape had…If he thought Remus a traitor….

Instead, Harry looked surprised and slightly bewildered at his response, chocolate halfway to his mouth again. “Nothing---I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts too….”

_ Breathe. Breathe, you’re scaring him.  _ He took a deep breath, forcing calm down like some sort of smothering blanket on his agitation.  _ Must you ruin everything? The mere mention of your memory soiling this victory he had?  _ Remus thought venomously at the lurking shadow of Sirius, outside these walls, inside his head,  _ Must you destroy everything you touch and leave me with  _ **_nothing_ ** _?  _

He managed to force out, “Yes, I knew him. Or I thought I did.”  _ Enough, I don’t want to share evil things with you--this should be about you, about your accomplishment.  _ Regretfully, he added. “You’d better be off, Harry, it’s getting late.”

Harry nodded and gathered his things, giving an exhausted, half-hearted wave before he left. Remus watched him go with a pang of remorse, wishing the Dementor-boggart hadn’t weakened his control of his emotions. He hadn’t meant to snap at the child--usually, he had an easier time filtering his reactions, when his internal grip wasn’t quite so weakened.  _ I should not have done that. I'll have to make it up to him…. _ He sighed and pinched his nose, massaging the bridge until he packing case gave an irate rattle.

Shooting it a grumpy glare, he continued his round about the room, extinguishing the lights before levitating the trunk next to him. The ugly turmoil whipped up by the mere mention of Sirius was gone, leaving a hollow, wrung out feeling. There was nothing much left in him, physically or emotionally, after the days of searching and the whiplash of the evening’s lesson; he was ready to do nothing but fall on his bed and sleep for as long as he possibly could. The boggart could spend the night in its case.  _ And think about what it’s done _ , he thought wryly, envisioning trying to sit it down and give it a talking to. 

But it had done its job, served its purpose. Resenting it was nothing if not unfair, even if he couldn’t quite help it. Seeing Harry in such anguish seemed to have awoken something quite irrational within him, something that would very readily commit any number of reckless and violent acts to keep him safe and untouched from any more suffering. It wasn’t the rage of the wolf within him, certainly, but something new and...raw. It would have worried him more if he wasn’t quite so flattened, at the moment. He locked the door and left. 

The next morning, Remus awoke feeling significantly...rumpled. Like sleep had dragged him to his bed, kicking and screaming and held his head under until he passed out, hard, and he was only just now pulling himself from its sticky clutches. His mouth tasted awful. Running a hand through his hair confirmed it was indeed sticking up in odd angles and swoops, as if he had tunneled into his pillow instead of simply sleeping on top of it. He rubbed his eyes. Overdoing it, that’s what this was telling him.  _ Got it,  _ he thought, petulantly, ’ _ You are not 15 anymore,’ message received,  _ He was only about halfway between moons, suspended like a bead on a string between the two ominous weights, but the stiffness and pain and exhaustion felt like he had just woken up after a Wolfsbane transformation.  _ Wonderful. It can be replicated.  _ He scrubbed a hand over his whole face before reaching over and downing the glass of water he kept by his bed. Slightly better. 

For a few minutes, he allowed himself to merely sit and stare sleepily into the middle distance, the snow-bright morning light fanning across his mussed bedclothes. The boggart and Harry and Sirius and panic, Filch and dust and closets all seemed far away. It was quiet and warm. A bird was tittering somewhere below his window and he heard the distant clatter of the rest of the castle. Children's voices, the bang of doors a gentle reminder that he was among other people, no longer exiled.

He was considering just rolling over and going back to sleep when his gaze caught on the stack of files he had hastily made a home for on his bedside chest. Stretching, he thought for a moment before sliding stiffly out of bed and limping over, barefoot, to take the top one back. After a moment’s thought, he also picked up his potion for aches and pains on his way back, as he could feel from the deep seated pangs that pulled at all his joints and muscles that this might be his last time out of bed for a while. 

Leafing through the cool, aged parchment, he skimmed, for the time being; the sheer volume of text was overwhelming and he was certain the memories would be as well. He let them wash over him and retreat, taking in a passage here, a few sentences there. Nothing too much, nothing too painful. 

_ Potter and Lupin were caught in the kitchens again.  _

_ Pettigrew spilled dungbombs all over the Charms classroom--a foiled plan, no doubt.  _

_ I heard Black sneeze while cleaning the 3rd floor West Wing at 11 o’clock pm, but Professor McGonagall says I can’t press charges unless I saw them.  _

_ Pettigrew and Potter were caught bringing contraband from Hogsmeade  _ (here came a list at least a page long. Remus thought he must have been exaggerating because he couldn’t see how they physically could have held it all.) 

_ Those 4 were caught in the Forbidden Forest, gave varying excuses of equal depravity---detention administered.  _

_ Lupin played innocent---but I know he’s the one who charmed my broom to run from me, the rest of them were laughing too hard for it not to be them and Dumbledore JUST OFFERED TO DE-JINX IT I WANT THEM PUNISHED! _

In the long years he had lived alone, without contact from pretty much everyone he knew, the memories of these boys had softened, gilded at the edges with some sort of nostalgic peace that burned him worse than any horror from the War could. Because that was gone. Horror, he had had in spades, every month in a warehouse, every day in his head, but that love and that belonging was gone---to his knowledge, at the time---forever. They had become these gossamer time capsules, lovely little baubles he could feel the warmth of but could not touch. He had forgotten this sharp wit and their stumbling pranks. The snide remarks and stupid rows and brilliant schemes, the exhilarating rush of running from Filch and sneaking around the castle at night. The planning and plotting and fruition of the Marauder’s Map, their masterpiece, their thesis for their stay at this mad castle. He had forgotten all the  _ fun. _

Fun was not something he was much familiar with before coming to Hogwarts and meeting James and Sirius. He remembered being startled by their quickness to laugh and rough house, confused by the constant stream of jokes and innuendos and puns and, frankly, sometimes ridiculous banter. It had taken him a week or two to tentatively step outside of his own denial that anyone as self assured and charismatic as James or Sirius would give him the time of da y, let alone count him among their closest friends.

But, he had concluded after Sirius hesitantly confided in them that a lot of the Slytherins saw him as some sort of pure-blood traitor for being sorted into Gryffindor that this wasn’t some elaborate hoax and, indeed, was what friendship was. Th ings had grown comfortable, settling into a routine of each other’s schedules and habits; they could be found waiting outside each others classes, sitting in a bunch at meals, doing homework in their dormitory or by the fire or in the library but always together. Remus had never felt a bond with his peers that was as effortless or rewarding--though, truth be told, he did not have much experience to draw on. It had been all such new territory. His parents had been forced to move their family fairly regularly and to keep themselves isolated from the communities they joined, lest their secret---his secret---be discovered. 

He hardly interacted with anyone except his parents, let alone other children. And those he did interact with seemed to find him odd; too blunt, too dry, too watchful, too distant and inaccessible. Remus didn’t try to be those things, he just didn’t know how to relate to people on the level they were at--he remembered one time, when he lived by the coast, he had slipped on some rocks and broken his arm. He hadn’t cried, but gotten up and hiked back home, fairly calm, but the group of children he had passed playing on the outskirts of town had been so horrified by his stoicism in the face of a compound fracture, they fled whenever they saw him, after. To him, the sensation of bones breaking was fairly normal, not quite routine, but at least something that was no worse than what he experienced every month. He didn’t understand the fuss. The pain was intense, but temporary. The isolation, however, had lasted until they moved yet again. 

James and Sirius seemed to find these things funny instead of off-putting, to his grateful bemusement. They laughed at his tart observations and lack of tact and seemed to find his uncensored honesty an asset, instead of a defect. But a childhood of hiding and social isolation had given him an outsider's perspective; it made him watchful.

It was the watchfulness that led him to notice Peter--another young boy, desperate for friends, alone. For whatever reason--his half-blood status, his shabby clothes, his obvious need for validation, his rather mousey manner--he seemed to be repeatedly repelled by whatever crowd he sought to ingratiate himself with. Remus had watched him anxiously bounce from group to group, ignored or teased, barely tolerated on the fringes. He had watched as Peter had spoken those intensely vulnerable words,  _ “Can I sit with you? Please?”  _ And been met with uncomfortable giggl es and incredulous looks. Remus could never quite parse why--the other boy had never done anything that seemed all that objectionable, didn’t seem to be particularly obnoxious. Maybe it was the open and desperate way he was seen wanting to belong. And that was terrifying, because Remus knew himself to be no different, just more guarded about it. If he had had the gall--the courage?--to ask so openly for friends, would he have been so thoroughly rejected? He had watched Peter and had known that only whatever strange whims moved his only 2 friends had saved him from being just as alone. 

One morning at breakfast, Remus had watched Peter take a seat at the end of a table and fruitlessly try to contribute to a conversation, only to be spoken over again and again, and had come to a decision. It had been only a month or two since the beginning of school, but his friends---his  _ friends _ \---had been consistent enough in their loyalty that he felt the risk to be minimal. They would accept this, they would not leave him if he pushed.  Purposefully, he strode over and  plunked his bag down on the bench next to the boy and sitting before turning to look at James and Sirius. James raised his eyebrows and Sirius scrunched up his face in ill-disguised questioning disgust, but Remus only met their gazes over his head, blandly, and said,  _ “Hello, Peter, how was your morning?” _

_ “Um…fine…?”  _ Peter’s round face turned first to him, then the others in uncertain surprise. _ “I guess…?” _

James shrugged and sat uncomfortably across from him as Sirius heaved a melodramatic sigh, but did the same. Remus steadily started loading up his own plate while saying, _ “What class do you have this afternoon?” _

_ “Er...Herbology?” _ He sounded dubiously hopeful, and seemed to be trying to decide whether they were making fun of him or not. Remus, quite unsubtly, kicked Sirius under the table.

_ “Yowch! What the f--! Oh...Uh...yeah. Herbology’s...the worst, right?” _ He supplied unenthusiastically, before meeting Remus’ eyes and kicking him back. 

_ “I mean, I sort of like it; I’m not really good at it, though. What do you guys have?” _

_ Thunk. Th-thunk thunk.  _ James waited a few moments before it became clear that Remus and Sirius were more preoccupied with decimating each other’s shins under the table than holding a conversation and gave a martyred sigh.  _ “Well, I’ve got Transfiguration with Remus and Sirius has a free period.” _

_ ThuNK THUNK-- “OW! Good God, man--!” _

_ “Oh, McGonagall scares me, I always get too nervous to perform any of the spells right.”  _ Peter shuddered and glanced surreptitiously at the Professor’s table, as if expecting to see her sweeping over at the sound of her name.

_ “Oh? I’m not too bad at it, myself. We could...I mean…” _ He shot Remus a glance.  _ “I mean, we could all study together, I guess...YOW! What the hell, I did what you wanted!” _

_ “Oops, I missed. Sorry.” _

_ “Friendly fire, not a good look, Remus,”  _ Sirius tutted.

_ “‘Scuse me, collateral damage, if you please, don’t incriminate me in your war games,”  _ James glared at them and pointedly scooted down the bench.

Peter looked between them with a nervous laugh,  _ “You guys are sorta weird, huh?” _

Remus shrugged but Sirius swung around, offended.  _ “Hey, Pettigrew, beggars can’t be choosers--!” _

Remus gritted his teeth. _ THUNK.  _

_ “AH! I’m going to have to visit Madame Pomfrey on my off time, you absolute lunatic! What do you have, hooves?!” _

It seemed to take Peter several encounters to figure out that this wasn't, in fact, an elaborate prank but a strange adoption process that rolled along more naturally when Remus stopped shoving it. He would join them in class and they would routinely save him a spot next to them at meals. They found that, once Peter was no longer desperately trying to prove himself, he could actually be quite funny and endearing. Remus would often find himself curled up on the couch, just watching the other 3 banter with a proud, contented grin. Well, perhaps it bordered on smug at times, but he felt he deserved it; it had been the first friendship he had a hand in.

Staring down at the name Pettigrew, written in Filch’s spikey, irregular script, he found himself wondering if Peter would have preferred it if Remus had minded his own business and not gotten him murdered. When he had relaxed, he was sweet, he was kind, he was mischievous--perhaps not charismatic or bold, but he had a good heart. 7 years at Hogwarts, he would have certainly found friends, friends that didn’t pull him into a complicated web of lies, werewolves, illegal magic, a War, and murder. Normal friends, ones that got together for Quidditch matches over the holidays, that sent owls to each other once a month after graduation. Normal friends that had families and lived. Friends who helped you be something other than a martyr.  A victim.

He remembered Hagrid’s insistence that they had all had a part to play, they had all missed Sirius’ corruption. But this was something that lay in his bones as surely as the blood curse that ripped a monster out of him every month, this was a truth he knew to be immutable. Deep down, he knew there was a poison in him, something that soiled everything he touched---the children in the villages of his youth had known it. Snape knew it. What other explanation could there be, when this deadly storm had somehow swept up everyone around him that he loved and left him, untouched, at its center. Surely, if he were doing the proper things, taking the right actions, surely he would have taken some damage, been affected by the absolute desolation of everything he knew. James and Lily dead, Sirius turned in secret, Peter, of all of them, the one to stand up and demand justice, only to be cut down. Surely, there was something the he hadn’t done. Perhaps even going back to that failing to simply run when he had heard the wolf breaking into his bedroom that night. He always waited instead of acting. He never took the right path.

It was like he was always standing by the wayside, watching as he had as a child. Simply watching the other people and their lives, trying to somehow absorb their humanity and learn how to behave like them, belong like them. He had never gotten the knack of it. Just a coward. Just a traitor. A perfect facsimile of humanity wrapped in a cardigan, but never quite right.

Grimly, Remus tucked the files away and gently set them on the floor. “I think that’s enough reading for today,” he said, softly, to the ripening light of morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles...they can't all be winners, am I right.


	33. Simple Failings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus realizes a mistake. Or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking forever, I've been travelling a lot and looking for a job x.x

A week or so later, a knock came on his door as sleet began to spatter the window, pulling his attention from packing his case up for his upcoming class. “Come in,” he called.

Cedric Diggory opened the door, stuck his head in and said with an uncharacteristic grimness, “Could I talk to you for a moment, Professor?”

Normally a pleasant and smiling boy, he seemed strangely tense and uncomfortable, though he did manage a small smile of greeting. It was a bit perplexing to Remus, not only for the fact that he had only ever seen this boy good-humored in the halls and class, but also for the fact that he was scheduled to be with the rest of the 5th year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in his classroom in 10 minutes. Puzzled, he stopped packing and leaned a hip against his desk with a wince as he turned to give the boy his full attention; focusing was hard over the dull throbbing that permeated him, courtesy of the very-nearly full moon. “Of course, Cedric. What can I help you with?”

“Thank you, sir. I…” he hesitated, then said, “I wanted to let you know that I’m not going to be in class today.”

Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh?”

Cedric nodded uneasily, yet met his gaze squarely. His grey eyes were clearly troubled but resolute--Remus had noticed that he had  _ informed  _ him of his absence instead of asking his permission. “You told us last week that today is going to be the boggart lesson, so I’ve been looking up the theory and spell behind it, even practiced a bit on my own and I think I’ve got it down well enough for the O.W.L.s. I just...I already know what my boggart is and...I don’t want to give people the wrong idea. So, I think it’s best if I skip today.”

It was a trouble with the fear, then. He folded his arms thoughtfully, one hand rubbing absently across his mouth as he studied the ground before Cedric’s feet. The sleet picked up, rolling against the window in hard spats that punctuated the silence, and the chill rising from the glass crept around the heat from the fire, needling into his joints, his bones. Was this a trauma or merely embarrassment? Cedric had never struck him as a particularly prideful person, nor a very troubled one; though, he cautioned himself, that didn’t mean anything. His judgement had been incorrect or incomplete before and trauma was not always readily apparent from the outside. How much to ask? How much to insist? To approach the situation as a compassionate adult or an insistent defender for education? Could he do both? He looked up again, seeing the boy watching him almost warily, still standing tall and guarded. “You’ve encountered a boggart before, then?”

Cedric sighed and said, “Yes, last summer. We were cleaning out the basement and--” he stopped and considered Remus a moment, seeming to size him up.

Remus stood there, calmly, and let him decide. When he watched Cedric chew pensively on the inside of his cheek, he merely gently offered. “I’m not going to tell anyone anything you say, unless you’re in some sort of danger. Not even Dumbledore.”

“No, that’s not…” He shook his head and blew out a breath. It seemed he reached some sort of resolve because he suddenly lost his apprehensive edge and lifted his hands, palm up, as if requesting understanding. “I thought it was my dad.  It looked exactly like him, but he just stepped around this stack of boxes and started in on how disappointed he was in me and how he had wasted all his time and trust on me, that I would never be as successful or famous or talented as he wanted me to be, that I was worthless, a disgrace. How he used to be so proud of me but--” 

Cedric stopped when his fists seemed to involuntarily clench and he swallowed, the line of his jaw hard. A weak smile flashed across his face. “Sorry. Harder to talk about than I thought.”

He took a breath. “It tore me up for days; I couldn’t even talk to him about it because I was just so...upset that I’d done something to lose his trust like that. And, of course,  _ he _ never brought it up, though I didn't know why. I thought he was just too ashamed of me to say anything more. It wasn’t until my mum started yelling one night and came bolting upstairs saying we had a boggart in the basement that I realized the reason he never talked about it was that it wasn’t him. It was just... what I was most afraid of, I guess. But he works in the Ministry. A lot of the parents know him and I just don’t want people getting the wrong idea and start rumors, you know? Me stepping to the front of the class and my boggart’s my dad---they’ll get all sorts of horrible ideas and I don’t want anyone thinking he, I dunno, hits me or scares me or something, because he doesn’t. He loves me. He just wants the best for me. I just...I just don’t want to take the chance that it will reflect badly on him.”

Remus had known Amos from afar, at school; a few years older than his group of friends, a Hufflepuff Prefect, loud and rather boastful, yet still amicable enough. It was very easy to imagine the man inadvertently settling his immense pride on his son’s shoulders, like a weight. “That’s a very...mature attitude and a thoughtful response to your problem. Let me see….” He gazed out the window for a few moments, thinking, until, at last, he turned back to him. “I’m willing to allow this if you write me a one scroll essay on the practice of the Riddikulus Charm; give 3 examples of the transformation from object of fear to one of comedy, specific to your Boggart and circumstance. You must also have a private lesson with myself or another teacher you trust before your exams in order to ascertain that you can successfully perform the Charm. Does that seem fair to you, Cedric?”

Immediately, the stiffness melted from Cedric's shoulders and the familiar, brilliant smile flashed back on in his relief. All at once, he was no longer a steely defender; just a boy. “Oh, yes! Thank you, Professor Lupin, I really appreciate it. I know you have to get to class, so I'll get out of your hair.”

He spun to the door, pulled it open, but something in Remus possessed him to say, “Cedric?”

“Hm?”

He was silent a few moments, searching, as if he could find some sort of phrase to assuage this boy’s fears--as if he had the means or the right. He was no father and he wasn’t quite sure exactly how much weight his opinion held in the mind of a 16 year old who hardly knew him. The boy watched him think, slightly puzzled, waiting as a flash of wind beat the sleet in a sudden hard splatter against the pane. Finally, he said, slowly, “Your loyalty to your father is admirable. I hope I am not overstepping when I say that your loyalty to yourself is just as important---it is your life to live.”

Cedric’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he considered this, hand on the door. Then, he nodded slowly. “Thank you, sir. I’ll...think on that,” he said agreeably before he left, pulling the door shut behind him.

Remus stayed where he was, watching the door sightlessly, leanin g on his desk with a introspective hand over his mouth. He should have thought of it before, honestly. It should have occurred to him the first time he had stepped in front of the class to stop Harry’s boggart manifesting in front of all the students. Too caught up at the time, trying to save Harry from himself and the class from boggart-Voldemort to realize the way he was going about this was wrong.  _ If you were a student now and a Professor told you they would reveal your greatest fear to a class full of y _ _ our peers to ridicule, mock, and torture you with, would you trust that Professor or run screaming from the classroom? God.  _ He dropped his chin, running a hand up his face, through his hair, down the back of his neck.  _ Idiot. Didn’t even think to put yourself in the student’s place, did you? You’re not the only one with secrets. _ Immediately, the path made by his palm ached like a sunburn, skin crawling before the Change, but he ignored it. 

How on earth could children be asked to trust him if he didn’t act trustworthy? 

He looked down at the dormant cupboard beneath his ancient and ponderous desk, demurely concealing the boggart he had been about to hound into his packing case once again. Would using it in class still be feasible, then? Would he have to rewrite his curriculum, his exams, his entire lesson plan? Cedric was the first to protest, but Remus mustn’t assume he was the only one; that was rarely the case.  _ And what if Neville’s boggart had been Frank? Alice?  _ Too busy forcing the tools into their hands to ask how they would like to receive them. The watch at his wrist ticked steadily, reminding him of his impending tardiness.  _ Decision time. _ He opened the door to the cupboard.

As he stepped through the door to his classroom, the students were chatting amiably, but shushed each other as eyes fell on the case. He looked, really looked out into their faces and saw apprehension and excitement, curiosity, determination, doubt. Fear. With a wave of his wand, the case slid neatly onto his desk and he turned to face them behind it, trying to disguise quite how heavily he was leaning on it. “It has…”  _ Come to my attention? Too incriminating; Cedric is absent.  _ “Dawned on me that in planning this exercise, I wasn’t being too terribly bright.” 

A small ripple of indulgent laughter burbled across the class at that.  _ They think I’m joking, bless them _ , he thought with wry affection and continued. “Boggarts, fears, anxieties, and phobias are heavy subjects that affect us each in different and, sometimes, unforeseen ways. It is my job as your Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor to help you confront your fears, navigate around them, and even use them to your advantage. It’s not easy and there are many adults who haven’t mastered this skill, but as young people, we have a duty to you teach you how to protect yourselves from such an attack, whether it’s from a boggart or someone trying to use your fear to control you. It would be...irresponsible of me to create a classroom environment where you as students do not feel safe to focus on your tasks. Therefore, I’m offering the chance to remain here to utilize this time as a study hour while the rest of us use the vacant classroom in the 7th floor West wing. I will be trusting your judgement and I won’t ask you to justify it--I only ask that you use your time here wisely and meet me after class to discuss when you will have your one-on-one make-up lessons with either me or another trusted staff member. There will also be a writing component that you must turn in, to show your comprehension, whether your meeting is with me or another Professor. This isn't a ‘get out of class free’ pass, but I’m open to a discussion about meeting your needs.”

For the most part, all the looks that met him were thoughtful or even slightly surprised, but there were one or two pale faces that had relaxed enormously.  _ Like looking back in time…. _ It truly shamed him that it took this long to empathize; his first year and a half as a student had been living in a constant state of terror that he would be discovered, that he would be found and rejected, or worse. Some sort of sympathetic echo of it hooked the edge of him, ringing out from his adolescence, the hypothetical challenge to his deepest secret making his skin crawl in retroactive horror. How easily he forgot the exhaustion of hypervigilance, to not immediately see through the student’s when asking them to reveal their greatest fears. To think he had contributed to the same sort of panic he had felt….He kept his chagrin off his face as he waved his hand in an invitation to rise and follow him, taking hold of the case handle.

“I will be the last one out, if you please,” he called over the clatter of the students repacking their bags and saw 3 spots of calm amid the rustling, 2 Hufflepuffs and one Ravenclaw glancing around surreptitiously, not packing. “7th floor, West Wing, remember. Quiet in the halls, please, there are other classes in session,” he continued as the rest left, chatting amongst themselves. 

He turned back at the door and looked at the remaining students; 2 Hufflepuff girls, Thora and Madeline, and Ashok, the Ravenclaw boy. Remus smiled. “You understand the assignment?”

While Thora nodded firmly, the other 2 seemed far more diffident. True to his word, Remus didn’t ask; he merely nodded back, said, “I’ll meet with you after class, then,” and left. 

Despite an immediate regret of making them all trek to the 7th floor when one of his knees gave a loud and distinctive  _ pop _ , the rest of the class proceeded fairly well. There was only one instance where someones Riddikulus-boggart was another boy’s greatest fear and another where a girl named Ophelia burst into hysterical tears when confronted with a giant moth. Not exactly perfect, but no diving interventions on his part, no nausea or pain spikes, and everyone was in good spirits when they left, even Ophelia, who reassured him that she was merely caught by surprise instead of scarred for life. Luckily, the boggart seemed to be as exhausted as he was by all the activity and slunk back into the case instead of fighting, making his life a whole lot easier. A quick check in with his 3 odd-students out back in the classroom had Thora meeting with him, Madeline meeting with Professor Sprout, and Ashok with Flitwick. Briefly, he considered scheduling his meeting on a Thursday, the same day he was to meet with Harry to give the boggart some sort of working week it could then retire from on the weekends, but then figured he shouldn’t push his luck or his energy limit; not with the full moon drawing so near. Instead, they were to meet the following Monday morning, during her free period. He made a note to himself to talk to the other teachers about transporting the boggart for their lessons after his transformation and dismissed the lot of them. 

The Great Hall was in his sights when a sharp voice caught him by the ear. “I’m not some sort of guerilla strike force, you know. It’s not my job to find and somehow  _ capture _ you to inflict healing.”

Bemused, he turned and took in Poppy’s sour scowl as she came off the stairway to his right. “But, I’m f--”

“Remus, let me tell you something; I have hundreds of children to look after and dozens of adults. We are in a school where inexperienced students try to do  _ magic _ \--very rarely am I bored or unoccupied. Is there some reason that you think I should have to hunt you down and remind you that you have a chronic, debilitating illness?”

Alarmed, he looked around, but she seemed to be more tactical than she claimed, for she seemed to have chosen to strike at the height of the lunch rush, when everyone was in the Great Hall and being quite loud about it. He turned back to find her much closer, disapproving face intensifying at close range. “I  _ don’t _ think you should do that--in fact, I’m trying to stay out of your hair.”

“You’re trying to stay out of my hair.”

“Well...yes. I’m--it’s not going to go away, so what’s the point of me coming back and complaining about the same aches and pains that will happen anyway?”

“Oh, so that’s your justification for letting yourself hobble around?”

“ _ Hobble-- _ ?” He started, indignantly.

“Oops,” She said dryly, pushing him hard in the shoulder with 2 fingers. It surprised him enough that he staggered back a step, a starburst of pain shooting immediately from his shoulder, hip, and knee, which promptly buckled. Remus sat down on the flagstones, hard.

Poppy looked down at him. He looked up at her. “Hobble...is a strong word,” he said, with great dignity.

“You’re an idiot,” she answered just as deliberately, folding her arms. After considering him for another moment, she said, tartly, “Aren’t you going to get up?”

“I’m...comfortable.”

“You can’t get up, can you.”

“You don’t know that _. I  _ don’t know that.”

“You aren’t going to try?”

“Well, then we  _ would  _ know, and I’m beginning to suspect that I wouldn’t like the answer.”

“Do you need help?”

Remus heaved a sigh, “More than I thought I did, apparently.” He took her small, hard hand and levered himself up with her surprisingly strong pull; it left his hand sore. His spine still ached from the impact of falling. “Thank you. Though, now that I think of it, you  _ were _ the one that pushed me down.”

“I  _ tapped _ you.”

“Potato, tomato….” he shrugged and dusted off the seat of his robes.

She raised her eyebrows at him with the first small smile he had seen on her all day. “Aren’t we in a good mood.”

“I’m feeling...effective. It helps.”

“Well, I’m sure it doesn’t hurt. What  _ does _ hurt, on the other hand, is you refusing medical treatment.”

He sighed but held up a warding hand when she put her hands on her hips. “I’m not  _ refusing  _ it, I just don’t see the  _ point _ . I’m taking the potions you gave me, I just overexerted myself last week and--” a gaggle of students walked by, talking loudly, so he rephrased, “The, er,  _ big day _ is 2 nights away. I’m not expecting to feel good _. _ ”

“Well, stop it,” Poppy snapped, sounding harassed. “If a treatment isn’t working, get a better treatment.” A faraway look came over her and she rubbed her chin, musing,  “I’ll have Professor Snape brew you up a Draught of  Rodolfo's  Relaxation-- it should help with any overworked muscles and hopefully make the Change not much worse than it would be.”

Remus schooled his face away from the grimace that had tried to twist his mouth. “Oh...I don’t want to bother Severus, actually...and perhaps this isn’t the best place for this  _ particular _ conversation?”

Giving him a sharp look as she focused back on him, she accused, “You would rather not have this conversation at all, which is  _ why _ we’re having it here. You will find me before the full moon?”

He jumped and glanced furtively back at the doors to the Great Hall, “ _ Poppy-- _ ”

“Oh, I can see when someone’s coming,” she said, grimly. “You will then?”

“Does my promise count if it’s under  _ duress _ ?” He asked incredulously, edging backwards toward the Hall. It remained to be seen that she  _ wasn’t  _ some sort of guerilla strike force, specializing in interrogation, considering this had to be the second or third time he had been subject to such a forceful application of affection.

“It does in my court; you  _ will _ ?”

“I will! No more hunting!” He waved a binding hand of oath in the air and fled to lunch.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, if anyone felt up to it, I would love to hear from people what their favorite chapter or part is. It helps me know what's effective--plus it's just nice to hear!


	34. Recovering From Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus realizes there's a lot they don't know about the Change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Contains graphic descriptions of the Change

True to his word, he sheepishly made his way to the Hospital Wing after dinner, with more difficulty than it really should have taken which only drove home the fact that she was right and he was wrong, yes, thank you, he got the point. Luckily, Poppy reported that Severus had agreed to bring the Relaxation Draught along with that day’s Wolfsbane potion, which, at least, relieved the worry that he would have to approach Severus in his own territory. Which was something that he had often made Remus do, claiming to have too much work to make a delivery--which may or may not have been true, though the truth was, not much could make an interaction with the man pleasant. It was just that, this month, he wasn’t sure his knees and flagging energy could make repeated journeys into the dungeon. After a quick once over, a vile tasting green potion for inflammation, and a short lecture that was full of words like ‘irresponsible’ and ‘function’ and ‘idiot boy’, he was released to ‘sleep, dammit.’ Which--to his credit, he thought--he obediently did.

Unfortunately, it didn’t help as much as it ought. The morning of the full moon dawned bitterly cold and merciless and it didn’t improve as the day wore on, nettling his joints with tiny glass needles that, when they weren’t stabbing, crumbled into some grating gravel that seemed to get stuck in the cracks and throb like nasty little embers. Grading was listless work, wrapped in his blanket at his desk and he often came back to himself staring out the window or into the flames in his fireplace while his hands resonated with a dull ache holding his quill. There wasn’t really an emotion that he could assign himself past ‘tired.’ Sleep was calling him but he knew this feeling, knew the muzzy twinge behind his eyes would grow into a pounding fog that would blur his thoughts for the rest of the day, rendering him utterly useless. He sighed and flexed his fingers, wincing as at least 7 different joints popped and pushed back from his desk. The intention had been to stand, but, instead, he sank further down into the blanket like some sort of turtle and found that, at present, he lacked any sort of motivation to go anywhere at all. He knew this was lazy and that he should be working. This knowledge bounced off him like a defective bludger. 

A sharp rap came from the door. For a fleeting moment, he considered not answering, but, instead, straightened up with a more impressive crack from his spine, tried to look responsible--or at least awake--and called, “Come in.”

Snape opened the door, sour look evolving into a sneer when he saw him bundled up. “Aren’t we cozy.”

“Good afternoon, Severus.”

“I see you can’t be bothered to move yourself and that you need things handed to you like a child,” he continued as if Remus hadn’t spoken and thunked a goblet and a small corked vial on top of the stack of parchments. A small slosh of potion dribbled down the side and seeped into the essay on top.

For a moment, Remus simply looked at him blandly. Then, he said, “Yes.”

Snape scowled. “What?”

“Yes, you’re right. That’s what I’m doing.”

His scowl deepened in irritation, but he seemed unprepared for such a response. Instead, he shot a contemptuous glance around the room, tutted as if disgusted and stalked out.  _ Well, you live in a dungeon so I’m not sure what you’re criticizing,  _ his internal James voice muttered, which he ignored and set about to cleaning off the essay, belonging to Cho Chang. Unfortunately, he was able to take the liquid out but unable to repair the blotted ink. Scrawling a quick apology and an assurance that he could still read it on the bottom of her page, he reflected that he was lucky that what seemed the most effective course of action to ruin Snape’s fun and encourage him to leave was also the one the required the least amount of effort on his part; he would have to remember that one. 

The Wolfsbane was absolutely repulsive, as usual, and he counted his lucky stars that Poppy’s anti-nausea serum worked so well or else he felt he would never be able to keep it down. After a few minutes, he also downed the clear vial Severus had left, hoping in a vague way that it was the Relaxation Draught and that the intent was for him to drink the whole thing and Severus had not conveniently forgotten to mention some sort of dosage size. It felt oddly... _ gelatinous _ and carried a strong taste of licorice, that meshed unfortunately with the meat-and-garbage flavor of the Wolfsbane. Successfully motivated, he rose and made his way back to his bedroom to hurriedly knock back another dose of said anti-nausea to head off the growing feelings of unease that were beginning to roil in his stomach, just in case. He doubted either potion would be effective if they came back up.

For a moment, it occurred to him to worry about possible interactions between all these potions, but then, a curious sensation began seeping through him, as if his shoulders dropped 2 inches, tension melting from his scalp and jaw, his neck, his spine. It was like a warm honey was slowly being poured over him. It was enough to make him sit heavily on his bed, glad he hadn’t been in the middle of actually  _ going  _ somewhere when it hit, for now he felt distinctly boneless and almost forcibly relaxed. In fact, the weariness that had permeated him all day now had no tension to battle against and suggested, quite reasonably, that perhaps it was easier to lay back instead of struggling to stay upright. Remus supposed this was true and sank back. He thought mournfully about the blanket he had left on his chair….

A sharp, vicious, and unpleasantly familiar stab in his stomach bolted him upright with a hiss of pain. Darkness lay over the room. For a moment, bewilderment gave him a distinctly displaced feeling, as if he had slipped out of time with no anchor as to when he popped back up. A small, but growing wave of panic was building deep within him; what  _ time _ was it? When was moonrise? He began to fumble for his watch when another searing wrench doubled him over, leaving him gasping.  _ Now. It’s NOW. _

Lurching to his feet, he made for the door-- _ don’t want to Change in here, it’s small, a safe place, a resting place _ \--but the combination of pain and Relaxation Draught brought him to his knees, permanently. Something snapped, muted, wet. His breath was coming fast and harsh. It was like some sort of unrest before the storm, the beast within him unsure what this new, unfamiliar lack of tension was. Testing the waters. Then, the agony seized him, crushing and flaying and burning mindlessly. But slowly. Where each rip was usually sharp, it was now a long, languid tear, each bone bending, splintering, cracking before the break. A slow torture.  _ Don’t scream, didn’t ward door, don’t--  _ Teeth clamped, viselike. Throat shredding. Copper on the tongue.

There was a pressure, a pulling. Everywhere clothes touched seared like acid. Insides liquifying. Endless. No sight. Was there screaming? Can’t hear. Twisting, gouging, peeling.. No floor, no anchor, just  _ pain. _ Forever….

Flamed out eternity later, shuddering on the floor. Tangled in clothes misshapen, squeezing, half shredded. Panting, he unsteadily gathered his legs under him, splayed wide like a colt learning to walk. Still throbbed; it always did. Just when it began to fade, dawn would come...but long way away, now. Headache was still there. He had  _ never _ been surprised like that; it was unbalancing, unsettling--he hated it. He shook himself ineffectively, pawed and wiggled and stretched and twisted until the clothes--or remains of them--were on the floor and not him. This induced relaxation was pairing with the after-Change ache and exhaustion like a particularly nasty wine; It was all he could do to clamber up onto the bed, collapse diagonally, ears laid flat. He couldn’t go out into the office, he wouldn’t. There had been no time to lock and ward the door and he was not safe, he was never safe, he was the monster and the rest of the castle was beyond that door, everyone he loved anymore. 2 doors would have to do. Exhaustion weighed down his edges and sleep did the rest.

As he lay curled up in the weak dawn light and wheezing after the pain Change back smacked him from unconsciousness for the second time in 24 hours was receding, Poppy slowly opened the door to his bedroom, looking white and shaken. More important than a greeting, something else had to come first. “We’re not doing that again, Poppy,” he slurred wearily.

She was silent a moment before saying, quietly, “Alright, Remus.” 

There was a pause, as if she expected him to respond or elaborate but he was utterly wrung out, nothing but pain and breath strung tenuously together. “It’s much later than it should be,” she said just as softly as before. “I came to see how you faired with the new regimen and when I came in while you still were….” Trailing off, her mouth grew quite thin and she stared at a spot to the left of him, sightlessly. “I waited out in your office, til it was...quiet....I don’t think any of us actually can grasp what you go through, now, after seeing you Change. I don’t think we understand at all.” She paused again, for just a moment, watching him but he could offer nothing in response.

Moving measuredly, she sat next to him, feather-light touches briefly prodding, shifting, checking. It still hurt, but he would never let her know that. She smelled like soap and something warm. “It must have been the Relaxation Draught, maybe paired with your own overwork, but you should have been Changed back half an hour ago. Did it take you this long to Change last night?”

Remus made a vague, hoarse sound he hoped she took for affirmation.

“That must have been it--hsst,” she drew in a sharp breath through her teeth, gently pulling his right forearm out to see. It was smeared a brown-rust, an irregular crescent splitting the skin. The tang of it still lingered in his mouth and he grimaced. 

Poppy cleaned it and his arm with a wordless spell and wrapped it with clean gauze produced from one of her many pockets, muttering “I hate that I can’t heal werewolf wounds. I hate it. What good is magic if it can’t help everybody?” She finished with a sigh, retrieved his pillow and tucked it beneath his head, and summoned his blanket from the office chair to drape over him. “Sleep now, love.”

“ _ Been  _ sleeping,” he mumbled.

“Probably because you needed it. I’ll let Dumbledore know to find someone to cover your classes.”

“No, I--” he tried to sit up, but only managed to twist his shoulders uncomfortably, to which Poppy only tucked him in more firmly.

“ _ Rest. _ Remus.”

Despite the warning in her voice, he felt a hand stroke his hair. Everything, including his scalp, still hurt as if it had been unzipped and dragged through a ringer, but the brush of her hand rolled a wave of relaxation through him nonetheless, some sort of childhood response of soothing. It had been more than a decade since anyone had done so--had it been his mother? Da? Before the War, then. Despite every hair follicle complaining, his eyelids drooped lower with each smoothing motion until sleep, the hungry beast that it was, swallowed him.

It had taken him a full 2 days and Pepper Up potion to recover and return to a somewhat regular sleep schedule, just in time for another boggart lesson with Harry. As much as he hated to laze about in bed, he was grateful for the respite for it allowed him to actually function as a human adult. Well...not human, but as near as he could manage. It had taken him a full day to actually leave bed, and when he had, he noticed there was a light layer of wolf fur dusted across the sheets from where he had lain during the Change. Repulsed, he’d used his new, unsteady energy to tear them from his bed and stuff them in the trash. When he had returned from breakfast, they were gone, fresh, dark green sheets tucked neatly in. It was not often that he thought of how much House Elves did around the castle, but that day, he made sure to make his way down to the kitchens and drop a quick word of thanks that they graciously rejected as just doing their duty. He resolved to do so more often.

Physically, he was on the mend. His headache had persisted, a low-grade angry cotton feeling, but it wasn’t too bad, comparatively, though his recovery time was not at all what he had come to expect from the Wolfsbane potion. Both Poppy and he had firmly agreed that the Draught had been a mistake, one they would not repeat. It had been a more physically and mentally jarring Change than he had had in a while and it had taken a lot more out of him than he had anticipated. Though he had been forced to admit that he hadn’t been taking care in how much he did and how close to the full moon he did it, he was anxiously waiting reentering castle life. Harry’s lesson was the first step.

The boy seemed a bit wary of him when he first walked in--probably still thinking of the sharp response to his question about Sirius, as he was--so Remus made sure to smile broadly at him, taking the chance to half-sit on a desk as Harry was, conserving what little energy he could. “Hello, Harry. How has your day treated you?”

The boy shrugged amiably, then stifled a yawn on the back of his arm, “Long. I’ve got Quidditch practice most days, so a lot in the evenings. Oliver’s running us ragged.”

“Aiming for the Cup, I take it?”

His face split into a grin, “Always.” Oddly, he glanced at Remus’ face a bit furtively, then down at the leg of the desk the boggart’s case rested on. “I, er, wanted to say sorry if I upset you, y’know, last week.”

Remus was already shaking his head.  _ Kind boy.  _ Relief and warm affection washed through him; all was not lost, despite all else, he hadn’t ruined their time together. “Think nothing of it, Harry. I’m sorry I got terse; it...surprised me and I was quite tired.”

“Me too...I wish I was learning faster,” he said, an irate look passing over his face.

Remus laughed. Lily had been the exact same way when she wasn’t a prodigy the first time she tried a spell, despite the reassurances that she was near the top of her class--though Harry didn’t hold that title, his drive was obviously just as keen. “I’ve told you, Harry, this is an incredibly advanced spell. If it makes you feel better, you’re catching on faster than I did when I first learned it.”

His looked up at him in surprise, dark eyebrows raising. “Really?”

“Yes, it took me weeks to produce anything at all, and that wasn’t even with the effects of the Dementors on me.”

Harry looked a bit heartened by the information. “Where did you learn it?”

“Oh,” Remus said airily, turning to unlock the case. “An old Auror friend. There were more Dementors, er,  _ free range _ back then.” 

“Oh,” Harry looked dubious. “That sounds horrible.”

“It wasn’t pleasant,” He admitted, then diverted, “Are you ready to start?”

Harry nodded, sliding off the desk and drawing his wand unprompted. “Yeah, I suppose we should. I’m ready.”

“I’ve brought plenty of chocolate frogs and another premium Honeyduke’s bar, so at least we have that to look forward to.”

The boy nodded again, steel already in his eyes as he held his arms up in a ready pose. “Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP, I thought I would get to more this chapter but I GUESS NOT. I have so many scenes lined up that I easily have the next 3-4 chapters outlined already, so those should be up with not too much delay!


	35. One Monster, Two Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus meets Thora for her private lesson. It does not go as planned.

By the time Monday rolled around, he was as recovered as he ever would be, energy back up and pain ignorable. It was glitteringly sunny over a light dusting of fresh snow, cutting the late January bite into something that almost had a pleasant edge. But instead of taking a walk over the grounds as he longed to do now that he knew his joints wouldn ’t dump him somewhere unfortunate without warning, he made his way up to his classroom, magically-lightened boggart  trunk in hand to set up before Thora arrived. The 2 days in bed and the rest of the week and weekend stuck indoors catching up on missed classwork had him gazing longingly out each window he passed, soaking in the brief sunlight like some sort of summer starved plant. Alas, prior commitments. Thora seemed a pleasant enough girl and he was always pleased to get to know his students as more than a name on a page, so, despite the unfortunate circumstances, he was sure the morning would be agreeable enough.

He had the floor cleared, chairs and desks neatly stacked against the sides of the room by the time she poked her head around the door jam. “Hullo.”

Glancing over his shoulder from setting the case in the approximate middle of the room, he smiled at her, “Good morning, Thora, right on time.”

He felt her draw close behind him, watching him wave his wand to undo the magical fastens while leaving the physical locks still firmly sealed. “Why are we here and not on the 7th floor?” she asked, curiously.

That surprised a short laugh out of him and he rose to his feet, hands on his knees. “Good question. Partly for the fact that we only need a bigger space when there’s a whole class worth of people lining up to take the boggart on. But, also, partly because I don’t want to have to walk that far, do you?”

She gave a short chuckle of her own and shrugged, tossing her bag onto a desk against the wall. “Not really.”

“I’m glad this is satisfactory for all parties, then. Save, perhaps, our unfortunate boggart, here. Feeling alright?”

Eyes locked on the case, she shrugged again, uneasily. Her fingers picked at the hem of her sleeves. “Nervous, I guess. I’ve been trying to guess this whole time what it might be and I don’t really know which one I would prefer, y’know?” 

His eyebrows raised in mild surprise and said, “Oh? I had thought you knew.” Declining to continue felt the least invasive, but they both felt the implied ‘and that’s why you elected to have a private lesson.’

It was hard to tell against her dark cheeks, but Remus got the impression that she flushed a bit as she shifted from foot to foot. “Uh, no, I just...I don’t do well, er,  _ performing _ in front of others, y’know? I get real...I just get real anxious and I didn’t want….”

As she trailed off he held up a hand and shook his head, trying to negate whatever  discomfort his question had caused, “Whatever your reasoning is fine with me, Thora, like I said, I’m not going to ask for justification. I shouldn’t have assumed, so I apologize.”

“Nah, ‘s alright. Just didn’t wanna have a fit in front of the whole class or anything.” She glanced around at him and shot him a small, sheepish grin, “In front of you is fine, though, I suppose.”

He smiled as gently as he could and said, “I’m here to help keep you safe, so whatever happens will be kept in the strictest confidence, Thora. Is there anything in specific you’re worried about?”

“Not really, just the whole, uh, worst fear thing. Not looking forward to that,” she said in a tone of humor veiling real discomfort. Her fingers kept picking at her sleeves, plucking nervously.

“Understandable,” he nodded. “But necessary--to be able to know and control your greatest fear, to use that power to transform it into something that is not only harmless but laughable is an invaluable skill. There are many adult witches and wizards who struggle with it. Do you want to talk about what it might be?” 

“No...I think I’ll psych myself out….”

He glanced down at the case, then back at her, a quirk of sympathy tugging his mouth when slowly she tore her gaze away from it to meet his. “Do you think you’re ready?”

She took a deep breath and blew it out before rolling up her sleeves and pulling out her wand. “I guess so.”

They both took several steps back, Remus drawing his wand as well, eyes on Thora. “Remember, I need this boggart for future lessons, so no going and banishing it in one go, right?” He quirked a smile at her that she nervously returned. “Remember the spell?” She nodded. “On 3?”

Without speaking, she nodded again, lips tight and wand pointed. Moving back even farther to leave her as the boggart’s primary target, he said, “1...2...3!”

The locks popped open, the lid flew off, and all at once, the both of them froze.

_ A latch cracking--- _

Mad golden eyes. Immense. 

_ Moonlight--- _

A bass snarl, shaking through the ribcage to seize the heart. 

_ He couldn’t move--- _

Measured steps, stalking. Claws grating on stone. 

Werewolf. 

_ A record warbled down the hall, the bed dipped-- _

_ Student. A child is here. _ Something in him slammed down, hard and fast. Breath unlocked again. He could move, numbly. All he could feel was a frantic, frenetic buzzing, deep within him, unidentifiable as an emotion. It had taken only a moment, maybe two. Thora was only just recoiling, her wand clattering to the floor, a horrified scream breaking free. She dove back against the front desk, curled up, hands over her head. Mutely, he slashed his wand, driving the boggart back toward the case, but not far enough. He stepped closer, the sickening vibration deep in his gut intensifying. The thing turned its eyes to him. Long white fangs parted. Another step and it shrank, spun, changed until the moon floated instead, like some sort of horrible Russian doll--the moon within the wolf within the moon within--

He slashed again and it fell back into the trunk, lid slamming down. He had no idea what was on his face as he turned back to her, but it didn’t matter, for she was slumped to the ground sobbing, hands over her face. “Oh God. I’m sorry. Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--I’m sorry--that was stupid, that was so--”

“It wasn't stupid,” he felt himself say, quietly, distantly.

“I’m sorry--”

Feeling strangely unreal and off center, he knelt next to her. “It’s alright.” His hands were numb.

The sobbing shrank quickly into hiccoughs she valiantly tried to tamp down, scrubbing her face clean on her sleeve. “Sorry. Sorry, for--for--”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” He couldn't seem to inject any inflection in his voice. 

“I shouldn’t cry, I was just--it caught me off guard, I didn’t mean to drop--God, that was so stupid….”

“You can cry. It was scary.”

She, sniffed, lowered her sleeve and turned to look at him. He didn’t quite have control yet, so whatever expression he had was worryingly unfiltered, but whatever she found seemed to help, for she sucked in a deep shuddering breath and closed her eyes. Now that the beast was gone, so was the strange, unsettling thrumming at his core, leaving him feeling curiously...empty. Vacant. He, too, took a deep breath.

“Really, I’m okay. It just surprised me,” she said, her voice roughened by the now-stopped tears. “I, uh, I was sort of hoping it wasn’t gonna be that. Which...I guess makes sense that it was, if I was hoping it wasn’t. My brother and me almost got attacked in the forest, when we were little, going for a walk. Mum killed it--she was an Auror. I hadn’t really thought about it in years but then, when Professor Snape was teaching your class when you were gone...I guess it got me thinking about it again.

“Which, I mean, yeah, it sucks because it was scary but, Snape--” Distracted by this memory, she suddenly rolled her eyes, looking annoyed, “It was so dumb, he kept teaching us about werewolves and we  _ told  _ him that you had it planned for later this year but he wouldn’t  _ listen _ , he kept saying all these things. My friend in Gryffindor said he did that earlier in the year in his class too, he told me about it. And it was like he kept trying to really subtly insinuate that  _ you  _ were a werewolf or something? It’s so stupid, like Dumbledore would ever let someone like  _ that  _ come to Hogwarts. And to choose  _ you  _ to be the one he was, like, hinting at is just--” she let out a scoff. “I mean, don't worry, no one believed it. Everyone knows he wants to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts but of all things to accuse you of, it’s just really dumb. All the Hufflepuffs agree that you’re one of the nicest Professor’s we’ve ever had; werewolves aren’t  _ nice people _ , they’re  _ werewolves _ ,” she continued, incredulously, obviously offering this as a compliment and an invitation for him to scoff as well, gesturing to the now inert trunk as evidence of this fact.

“...It’s nice to be trusted,” he heard his voice say, hollowly. 

Suddenly, she looked self-conscious and muttered, “Er, probably shouldn’t be disrespectful about other Professor’s around you, huh? Sorry.”

He felt very far away. “...Probably not.”

Thora gave one last, huge sniff, swiped her arm across her nose and stood up, “I guess I should have another go.”

It took him another moment to rise, but he did.  _ Student. Teaching _ .  “Yes. Do you have any ideas about the Riddikulus form.”

She cast him an odd look. He made sure to blink. It felt like he had been staring.  _ Wake UP _ , something hissed fiercely.

_ I don’t think I want to. I don’t think that would be wise at all. _

“Um…” Her brows furrowed and she pursed her lips. “I guess...maybe...well, not dead, that’s not funny….”

He said nothing.

“Er...bald? Or...pink. Still scary, though; a pink monster is still a monster. Um...oh! Oh, I got one, okay! I think,” she cast a doubtful look at the case. “I think I can try again.”

“Good.” Dream-like, he moved beside and behind her once more.

“I won’t drop my wand this time,” she said, words firm, as if assuring him but her face was dubious. “Riddikulus?” He nodded. “Okay...ready.”

The lid swung open once again, that deeper than deep, rattling growl came again. His eyes were closed.  _ The stench of rotting meat--- _ Stop.

There was an intake of breath next to him. “ _ Riddikulus _ !”

There came an odd, muted thump and a surprised gale of laughter. His eyes opened. A huge black anvil sat where the werewolf had been, leaving only 4 splayed legs beneath it. He must have stared at it for a few moments because Thora, still wheezing, said, “Sorry! Dad’s American, Muggle born. I got brought up on Wile E. Coyote! Meep meep, asshole!” She crowed at the boggart, who twitched at each new peal of laughter.

He felt his lips stretch and he said, “Funny.”

In the face of her mirth, the whole thing scooted backwards, then dove back into the case for relative safety and quiet, which made her laugh harder, tightly curled hair quivering in her glee. Part of him, the Professor part, quite detached, was glad that she had come about so quickly and found something so effective. Another, separate, walled off part truly and completely and sincerely no longer wanted to be here. A wolf scrabbling at the walls of a room on fire.

“...You should try again. To be sure you have it.”

And she did.

Twice.  _ Control _ .

After the boggart had fled once more, he waved his wand, closed the case and locked it. Thora flexed her arm and said, “Take after my mum, I guess! Werewolf slayer!”

“Well done.”

She hesitated and said, “Are you alright, Professor? You’ve got...awful quiet.” She looked unsure, even concerned.

Something in the vicinity of a smile came over his face. “Yes.”

Sweet, kind, werewolf-fearing Thora frowned and studied his face, then softened and said, “Professor Lupin...were you a little scared, too?”

Deep in his pockets, he felt his hands begin to shake. _ Trusted.  _ “Yes,” he repeated. “I think...I must have been.” 

Something like sympathetic relief swept onto her face and, Hufflepuff through and through, asked, “Are you okay?”

_ “Mum killed it.” _

_ “You’re one of the nicest Professor’s we’ve ever had.” _

_ “A pink monster is still a monster.” _

_ A latch shattered-- _

_ There is no monster in that trunk, there is one monster in this room. There is no monster in that trunk--- _

_ Student. _

“I am. Thank you,” he said, quietly.

Satisfied, she turned and eyed the case. “We don’t...have to do this again, right? Not until O.W.L.S.?”

“No. Just the essay.”

Flashing a grin, she blew out a breath and clapped her hands together decisively, “PHEW! Good! I really don’t want to see  _ that _ again soon. Or ever.” She turned back to him and, automatically, a smile pasted itself on his face, like holding up a mirror. “I’m really glad I chose to do the private lesson, I, uh, know a couple people who wouldn’t have let me live down that little scene that happened. But...thank you. Sorry if it was hard on you, too,” she added.

“Don’t worry about me.”  _ Then stop  _ **_making_ ** _ her worry. Selfish. _  “You did very, very well, Thora, and I’m proud of you. I’ll see you in class.”

“See you in class!” A bounce in her step, she scooped up her bag and thrust her wand behind her ear. With a fierce grin, he heard her say to herself, “I  _ did _ it.”

She looked back at him and the smile flicked back on. Behind it, it felt distinctly cracked. He waved. She waved and left. The door closed. He sat down, on the floor. His hands shook.

It was a long, long time before he could touch the trunk.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Pink Monster, You Monster! Hey, Dr. Seuss, Harry Potter and morbid humor, what more do you need. There was gonna be more in this chapter but it decided to end itself so here we are.


	36. What's In a Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus recovers from his morning with Thora, with some unexpected company.

It took...awhile before actual thoughts started to connect, like pieces from a child’s train set slowly relinking itself. He was sitting in his office armchair, staring sightlessly across the room at his desk. He wasn’t exactly sure how long it had been since he had returned and mechanically prodded the boggart, glowing belligerently, from trunk to cupboard, and sat down. It had all felt distinctly distant, as if he had been mentally sitting in this armchair the whole time, watching his body stoically going through the motions of what was needed. The fire popped and he looked at it. He must have started that at some point. His hands flexed and he looked at them instead. They were no longer numb, and so he could see the deep, purple-red grooves from where he had unknowingly balled his fists, digging in his nails. The pain was like a dull ache on the outside of a glove; not quite present.

Nothing in him wanted to touch the memory of the morning. It felt strangely packaged up, as if it were a self contained quarantine he could look at from the outside, even talk about in vague terms. Almost as if it was a horror story told to him by someone else. He looked at the trash bin next to his desk, where his wolf contaminated sheets and clothes had been stuffed. 

The idea that there was something in him that came out and left tangible evidence of its presence behind made him want to dig through his chest and tear it out, like some invasive tumor. The knowledge that those mad eyes were in him, now, in his blood, written in every cell of his body, tainting and contaminating everything he decided to become a part of made him want to just start running and never stop. Not in an emotional way, which was almost more frightening. It wasn't disgust, it wasn't fear or hatred or shame. It was clinical. Passionless. Logical. He wanted to remove himself.

In that moment, it made sense. He had wondered, the first time he encountered a boggart visiting James’ house why his was the moon and not a werewolf. Now, in this daze, he knew that the only wolf he had ever seen was in his past, in his nightmares. That fear belonged to the boy whose normal life had ended that night--his human life ripped from him. After that night, he had never seen another wolf, because he  _ was _ a wolf. 

And he was no longer scared of being hurt. Every month, each bone in his body was broken, every sinew shredded and reconnected. This pain he knew. Anyone who had ever looked at him and known every failing and loved him still was dead. This pain he knew. Nearly every moment of the past 12 years had been spent in weary isolation. This pain he knew.

But this thing that answered the moon did not just hurt him. This thing would murder and eat children, children like Thora. Like Harry. This thing broke free and used his body to try to escape captivity and destroy as many bodies and dreams and families and human lives as it could. And then it would sleep and give him the broken shards of these memories to hold until it ripped free the next month and it would never ever go away. 

This thing that was as inseparable from him as his own flesh and mind lived in the deepest fears of children and in his own body. And he was lying if he said that he wasn't that thing. He felt it, moving in his depths with his temper, with his own darkness. It would push up beneath his thoughts, still seeking that escape as the moon thinned him until the wolf was just under his skin, staring out of his eyes with that hunger. Without him actively submerging it every moment, it would gladly swallow him as well.

He could lie all he wanted. He could pretend all he wanted. It didn't change what he was.

It wasn't the monster he feared, because the monster was himself. He could hate it, but it wasn't him that had to face it. It was everyone around him. They would look into that murderer’s gaze, the way Thora had looked into her attacker’s, the way he had looked into his. The way he would never have to look into his own.

There was a pain that came with killing someone, even when you meant to and he knew that pain too. But the wolf was not war. The moon is what made him indiscriminate. The moon is what made him a butcher. The moon is what made  _ him _ a boggart. 

A knock at the door suddenly startled him from his sightless reverie. He stared at it. His hands and feet tingled as the jolt of surprise reached them, the quickening of his heart making him feel uncomfortably as if he were coming back to life from being dead. Even if he wanted to see someone else, he wasn’t sure any words would come. There was no second knock. 

Then, there was a shuffling at the door and a piece of paper was slipped under, skimming across the floor until it bumped his rug. He peered down at it, bemused. Then, he rose slowly, leaned down and picked it up. It was a thick parchment, carefully and riotously adorned with colorful ink and little sketches of cakes, Christmas crackers, and, inexplicably, an airplane. It read;

Luna Lovegood’s 12th Birthday Party

February 13th

Lunch time, Location to be decided

No gifts, just company

Please RSVP!!!!

Just as he reached the bottom, another paper was poked under, catching on the edge of his shoe.  _ What on Earth _ ...He looked at it for a moment, then stepped back and pulled the door open to see Luna crouched down with a stack of parchments in her arms, looking up at him. “Oh! Hello, Professor Lupin, I thought you were out,” she said cheerily and stood, holding out the paper that she had been sliding in. “I found an interesting article about Hinkypunks and the new theory that’s out on them.”

Taking it, he read the title, ‘ **Hinkypunks; Impish Ne’er-Do-Wells or Desperate Bodhisattvas??** ’ then looked back at her. Today, her hair was bundled up high on her head with her wand stuck through with what looked like little purple sea urchins as her earrings. Her boots were bright blue. “It proposes that Hinkypunks aren’t actually trying to lead people astray so they die in the swamps, but are actually trying to take them to an enlightened plane of existence that we can’t follow, on account of them being able to move through dimensional walls. It’s fascinating; I need to do some more research on it myself, but I thought you might like it.” Her eyes went to the first parchment in his hand and her face brightened further. “Oh, and it’s my birthday next month! I’m excited because this is the first time I think I’ll have someone actually come; though, it would be 2, if you showed up. I usually pass out flyers and put them around the castle, but no one really shows up. It’s alright, though--it usually means more cake for me. Do you think you’ll be able to make it? I know you’re fairly busy. I’ve never invited a Professor before, but none of them were easy enough to talk to. Do you think you’ll come?”

The onslaught of happy chatter washed over him, seeming to ground him, one word at a time until he blinked, realizing she was done and staring at him expectantly. “Er….”

She eyed him, pale and rumpled and dazed, then said, as if in realization, “You look awful. Gilliwiskins again?”

He gave a tired smile, one that he felt and one that he meant, and said, “Something like that.” 

In the face of her knowing nod, the part that had slammed down on any emotion within him warned,  _ It will hurt. Just like Thora _ .

The part that desperately wanted to stop sleepwalking in his own internal chaos said,  _ I don't care.  _ He held the door wider. “Would you like some tea?”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” she drifted in past him, depositing her arm full of party invitations on the edge of his desk, and perched on the armchair in the corner, feet pulled up onto the cushion.

He peered at the drawings again as he used his other hand to slowly rummage through the scratched cupboard where he had stowed his meager tea fixings.  “These are… quite good, Luna. Why an airplane?” The more he talked and began setting up tea, the more real he began to feel. The pain in his palms was becoming uncomfortable, which he supposed was a good thing.

“My father got me a ticket to go on one this year for my birthday; I’m quite excited. A metal tube launched high into the sky with dozens of people inside. It's almost like a sort of magic. Muggles think of the most fascinating things, don’t you think?”

“They do, at that. You'll have to tell me how it goes; I've never been on one before. Where are you going?”

“Oh, we're not sure; he's just going to pick one when we get there and just go wherever. Dad will Apparate us back home!” she gazed happily into the middle distance, obviously already envisioning the trip.

He vented a brief chuckle and poured the tea he had instantly boiled into his 2 trusty, worse-for-wear mugs. “Sounds like quite the adventure.” He passed her one and hooked one of the office chairs with his foot, dragging it round to face her and sat. 

The first sip of the hot, earthy tea felt like the final stitch of fastening him back in his body, solidly landing him here and now, with Luna. He sank back into his chair, letting the heat and scent seep into the weariness he could suddenly feel again. Taking another sip, he managed to give her another small smile, saying,“So...a birthday party. Who else is coming?”

“Oh, I don't want to jinx it, I've asked quite a few people, and I only count the RSVPs, but one so far.”

“You sure you want someone old like me crashing your party?”

“Of course; you give me the impression of being a good party guest,” she said, sounding surprised 

A small chuckle escaped him. “Well, now I'm curious--what about me seems like a good party guest?”

Luna shrugged. “I wouldn't know. I've never been to a party and no one's come to mine, but you strike me as someone who would be one, whatever that entails.” She waved a hand at his general person and took a drink.

Remus laughed. “I would be delighted to come to your birthday party, Luna. Where is it being held?”

“I hadn't decided anywhere until I had guests, so that's something that I will need to do, I suppose.” She pulled a quill that has previously been hidden from view in her chaotic bundle of hair, dipped it in something hidden in her robe pocket and scrawled something onto her palm. 

Watching her, he pondered a moment and said, smile still tugging his mouth, “I suppose a picnic is right out.”

“Not necessarily,” she said breezily, tucking the quill back into its nest. “The only problem I've run into is that it's hard to eat cake with mittens on.”

“I would imagine so,” he replied, amused. 

A voice sounding behind startled them both, saying, “Awww, how sweet--Loony Lupin's got himself an ickle Loony Lovegood.” When he turned, he saw Peeves floating above his desk and when they met gazes, he took a huge breath and blew the essays from his desk to the floor and shot them a nauseating grin. “Loony Loony’s. Is she your gir--?”

Having had enough experience with Peeves to know exactly what he had been about to say, Remus calmly flicked his wand, saying, “ _ Silencio.” _

The poltergeist's lips kept moving, but nothing came out, making his devilish face twist and grow bright red in fury. He opened his mouth again but Remus turned in his chair back to Luna, propped one ankle on his knee and went to sip his tea. “You were saying?”

Luna was watching over his shoulder, curiously. “He's--”

“I know he is,” Remus said, pleasantly, as the thump of books raining off his desk sounded. “What were some other ideas?”

“Well…” She paused as his empty briefcase sailed through the air and crashed into his door, then said. “I supposed we would do it somewhere nice where they allow food….”  

“Not the library, then,” he supplied, calmly brushing off the cloak that flopped over his head. “I would gladly supply my classroom, if you have need of it.”

“That would be lovely,” she said, “Or perhaps the greenhouses.”

“Certainly, just ask Professor Sprout.” He continued mildly, without pause or change of inflection as her eyes flicked behind him again and widened considerably,  “I would like to remind you, Peeves, that if you actually damage any of my belongings, I will be forced to report it to Dumbledore.”

He heard his desk chair slam back down and watched as Luna’s eyes tracked up to the ceiling, obviously following the small man’s retreat, then back down to Remus. “He had a very creative potty mouth,” she observed mildly, taking another drink of tea and recrossed her legs, still perched on the edge of her seat like a bird. “Usually, people get mad at him.”

Remus smiled. “That's exactly what he wants--and I try not to make a habit of giving people who harass me extra hand holds.” Rising, he swept his wand and said, “ _Accio_ _essays_.” As they flew to him and shuffled into another neat pile in the crook of his arm, he added, “I hope none of Peeves’ antics made you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, no,” she shook her head and drained the last of her tea. “I’ve heard much worse.” She got up and  began gathering up his books from the floor and said, airly, “I don’t mind,” when he tried to object.

They tidied his now trashed office in companionable silence. It felt good to feel solid again, to be able to move and touch without it being through a thick glass wall feelings couldn’t penetrate. He could appreciate the smell of the old books, the texture of their covers, the warmth of the fire and the sun through the window. Perhaps his whole day wouldn’t be marred by the morning. He was ruminating on this when he saw Luna begin to open the large cupboard beneath his desk and he straightened in alarm, “Not that one, please!”

She blinked in surprise but closed it quickly, looking at him, half crouched with an arm full of books. 

“Sorry, that’s where I keep the boggart for classes. It was...a chore to find it and I would hate to have to do it again,” he said, sheepishly, back twinging in remembered pain of the several day excursion, just leaving recent memory. 

“Oh!” Luna sounded fascinated, she peered at the cupboard as if she could see through it to the boggart behind the door. “What’s its name?”

Nonplussed, Remus stared at her. “Er...pardon?”

“Its name, what have you named it?”

“I...to be honest with you, I have never thought of naming it.”

She laughed out loud at his baffled expression and stood up. “That’s the first thing that I would have done, I think everything deserves a name! Especially creatures that live such solitary lives. Names give meaning to things, you know. Once you name a thing, you can know a thing, and once you know a thing, it doesn’t seem quite so scary.” She set the stack of books on the corner of his desk and patted the edges until they all aligned into a neat pile. “Not that it would make much of a difference to the boggart--they might even have their own names for themselves. But you can’t really respect something if all you do is fear it; I don’t think the fear leaves room.”

“That’s...very wise, Luna.” Remus looked down at the cupboard door, wood darkened and scuffed with age. There was a softness in the way she spoke of monsters that didn't quite lay comfortably in the space he had made for them in his own understanding, at odds with the rawness he often felt, being one of them. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

“I think it’s just common sense!” She sounded surprised. “What about…Theodore. Aloysius? Barnaby? Achilles.”

“Ironic, in a Greek sort of way.”

She tapped her chin, deep in thought. “Rhonda?”

“Bob?” Remus suggested dubiously

She stared at him for a brief moment, then doubled over and practically shrieked with laughter. “Bob the boggart! Bob the boggart, perfect! Oh, it has to be that!” She straightened, wiping tears from her pale eyes. “Oh, yes!”

“It's been a while since anyone has found me that funny,” her over the top reaction drew a surprised laugh, though it couldn't have been anything but genuine, coming from her. “Bob the boggart it is.”

“You're plenty funny, Professor Lupin. I like spending time with you; you always listen when other people say I'm being foolish,” she smiled up at him.

He couldn't help but smile back, despite the creeping weariness growing like a thick fog within him. “I don't think I've ever thought you were being foolish, Luna. You're a very bright person with a unique way of experiencing the world.”

“Well, that's a nice way of putting it,” she said, frankly. He laughed, but the inexplicable weariness from the weight of the morning bore down more heavily and, as pleasant as Luna was to be around and as light as she had made his spirits, the urge to simply curl up and do something--anything--other than interacting with another person was becoming unbearable. Luckily, as if in response to this feeling, she retrieved her mug, and handed it to him. 

“I still need to put up the rest of my posters, so I think I'm going to leave now. Thank you for the visit and for agreeing to come to my party.” She drifted over and picked up her stack of parchment they had rescued from the floor. 

He was glad, for he didn't think he would have the heart to ask her to leave and collapsing mutely in front of a student seemed bad form. “Anytime, Luna. It was a pleasure, as always.”

“It was, wasn't it?” She remarked, and drifted out.

It struck him, as he watched her close the door, that Moony had been the name given to his friend's monster. For a brief time, he hadn't just been something to fear; their naming had made room in him for more than that and for a few handfuls of years, Luna had been right--he had been known. And where did that leave him now, among boggarts and corpses, traitors and the nightmares of young children?  _ Just Remus. And for some reason, that feels harder.  _

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Enough. He was tired. And he didn't want to think any more. He put the mugs in the side table and went to sit by the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh my god that took forever and I feel like none of it makes sense, so enjoy??? I'll edit later, just gotta keep chugging along.  
> Choo choo~


	37. Simple Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus ponders, wanders, and receives some kindness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SON. YOU GUYS. I AM  
> SO SORRY THIS TOOK 10,000 YEARS.  
> Job searching, holiday stuff, and my own writer's block were m a j o r roadblocks for a while there and I can't pretend that they might not be be again. BUT. I just downloaded a bunch of extensions that limit my time on time-sucking websites, so, hopefully, I'll be consciously making more time for writing! Thank you for your patience! I hope you enjoy!

For the next few days, classes went well enough; a repeat of his invitation to private boggart lessons were taken up by 8 more students from years 3 through 6, a handful from each House that sorted themselves off to Flitwick, Sprout, and McGonagall. He tried to stifle the petty side of him that took a great _interest_ in noting that no one chose Severus, not even the Slytherins. _He’s about as nurturing as a moldy piece of bread,_ his internal James voice muttered and Remus had to shush it, sternly. There were 2 left for himself--a 6th year Slytherin girl named Reiko and a 3rd year Ravenclaw boy named Sterling that he scheduled promptly, Reiko that afternoon and Sterling the next day during lunch.

Despite his slightly traumatic first experience with Thora’s lesson, their boggarts simply turned out to be fears they didn’t much want to share with anyone else publicly. Reiko’s had become a single rat, staring at her, hair on end and fangs bared as it hissed and she succeeded in casting Riddikulus on the first try, freezing it in a block of ice so it tipped to the ground, protruding tail thrashing. After, she admitted that the only reason she wanted it to be secret was to protect her reputation and keep her friends from teasing her. “They mean well,” she assured him when he had frowned at the thought. “I would just never live down my worst fear being a _rat_.”

Sterling’s boggart was a woman Remus didn’t recognize, haggard and menacing, simply staring at him wordlessly with knobbly legs and burning eyes. White lipped, the boy failed to cast Riddikulus the first 3 times, until she finally dissolved into iridescent bubbles. With a final, shaky ‘ha’, he chased the boggart back into the case. The boy had looked so shaken, Remus let him speak first and, after a few moments, Sterling had looked up from the ground and asked if he could go.

“Do you feel that you understand how to perform the Charm? Or would you like to try again?”

Mutely, he had shaken his head, hand like a vice on his wand. It gave Remus pause, but he had eventually said, gently, “If you would like to practice again...or talk about it, you can come find me.”

Sterling had nodded and left without a word.

Seeing Thora again in class had been an odd experience. Part of him was deeply ashamed of having failed to properly instruct her in her lesson and some other, more unconscious part of him now seemed to associate her with everything he feared at Hogwarts--someone who liked and trusted him only because they did not know what he was. She symbolized everything he could lose if she realized he was the monster that she feared more than anything. He made sure to smile at her when she came in and she had grinned back and said, “I’m always relieved, now, when it’s you and not Professor Snape at your desk!”

Ah, and that. He supposed he should talk to Dumbledore about his vendetta against his classes--or even talk Severus himself, if he thought it would make any difference,which he didn’t. Perhaps that was the cowards way out. The problem being that even on a good day, he was just too tired to have to deal with the mental gymnastics and verbal sparring that came with anything longer than a brief exchange of barbs with the man. Trying to convince Severus to act like an adult and stop trying to expose his secret through barely-subliminal teaching methods felt more daunting than coming up with a whole new curricula. It wasn’t that Remus was afraid or even intimidated by him--it was probably more that part of him agreed with Snape that someone as dangerous as him shouldn’t be allowed to teach at Hogwarts. Not a very convincing argument. _Once more_ , he reasoned. _If he gets assigned to cover for me and he harrasses the students one more time, I will talk to Dumbledore about it._

Despite the rather disastrous start to the week, things were settling again and existence no longer felt quite so dire. Classes fell back into their rhythm and so did he. Thursday came quickly, and with it, Harry’s third Dementor lesson in the evening, long after the sunset had tipped the freezing day into an even more frigid night. Luckily, this was the best he had felt in all the times he had had a lesson with him, so he was able to arrive early and set up before Harry even showed up. When he did, Remus smiled broadly at him. “Good evening, Harry, how was your day?”

“Long,” the boy groaned and flung his bag onto a desk, haphazard enough that a few parchment pieces fluttered out. “I came straight from Quidditch practice and I feel like my arms are about to fall off. The Shooting Star’s a really old broom and it does this _vibrating_ thing when you turn too fast and it just goes up my arms.” He held out his reddened hands in vexation, “See? Blisters.”

“Ouch,” Remus sympathized dutifully, studying them. “I wonder how that would affect Professor Trelawney’s palm readings?”

“I’m probably cutting my lifeline short, or something,” Harry rolled his eyes and fishing out his wand. “Or there’s toads in my future.”

Remus bit back a snort and straightened. “Heaven forbid. Do you feel well enough to have your lesson tonight? Boggarts are very draining; I wouldn’t want you overextending yourself.”

“No, I’m fine,” Harry sighed. “There’s just a lot.”

“There always is, isn’t there?” He went round to put his hand on the lid. “Ready?”

After about an hour, Harry had yet to pass out but was looking distinctly green around the gills after Remus had to chase the boggart back into the box following the second amorphous pseudo-Patronus the boy had managed that night, and so Remus called it quits. Predictably, Harry protested, but he had to be firm; “Harry, I know that you can do more, but if you do the _most_ that you can do, it’s no longer your best. If it makes you feel better, I don’t think I could stomach another round.” It was unfortunate that this was not a ploy to convince him; the cold had settled back into his joints and chest as if someone had made them into iron, turning them cold and stiff and heavy.

Reluctantly, the boy stowed his wand and sat in a chair, watching Remus tidy up as he rubbed feeling back into his hands. Remus tossed him a chocolate bar before stowing the case by the door and sweeping his wand in broad strokes, putting the room back to rights, leaving Harry’s chosen chair for last. “Still haven’t found a new broom yet?”

For some reason, a familiar, shifty look crossed the boy’s face. “Uh, no, not quite.”

It was familiar in that it was almost an exact mirror of a number of times such an expression had crossed James’ face in any one of these same classrooms, concealing a prank or dodging responsibility of a plan gone awry. He knew it well. Very well. In his experience, it had always accompanied a lie.

Remus paused and raised his eyebrows. “No?”

Harry shook his head and bent over, studiously crumbling the corner of his chocolate. “Nope.”

He watched the top of his tousled head for a moment, curiosity, professionalism, and concern all chasing a merry dance with one another in his head. However, there were times he knew he felt more responsible for Harry than their relationship warranted, far more familiar than he knew the boy saw him; he was his teacher, nothing more. It felt like something of a discreet personal tragedy that Remus was beginning to realize he saw Harry as a sort of godson. He wanted to press, to help...but when had he earned that right? When Harry offered nothing more, he simply said, “Alright,” and returned to cleaning. Whatever it was was not something he seemed keen on sharing. All he could hope was that Harry knew he was a safe place to confide. When the classroom was set and they both could stand without wobbling from the Dementor-boggart’s effects, they exchanged friendly farewells and parted ways in the corridor for bed.

Only a few days later, dawned January 30th, Lily’s birthday. It was a dreary, cold day, not suited to her sharp and brilliant memory but a good day to spend in a sort of gentle mourning--such a thing only possible thanks to Poppy’s ruthless potion regimen. It made it harder and harder to slump into the sort of fugue-like despair such anniversaries usually pulled him into and he was grateful for it. He could pass over these memories, recall them, but in a simple way. It felt almost mirror like, encouraging reflection but offering no hidden depths of despair; simply small sparks of memory, silvery and ephemeral.

Their 7th year, they had asked Madame Rosemerta if they could decorate a private room of the 3 Broomsticks for a private sort of celebration--though not a small one. It had been packed and loud and hot, filled with awful singing, raucous laughter, and enough drinks that James and Sirius had become even more obnoxiously entertaining than usual. It had been in the middle of the War, one of the last times that all their school friends had been together, especially in a celebratory manner. After, it had all been Order meetings, then funerals, with their numbers growing scanter, cheer wearing thinner. It was good to still be able to feel the warmth of that time, before everything. The relative ease and safety these sheltering walls had provided until they graduated, stepping out into the great cold world as voluntary soldiers. Lily had always been that sort of person, though, a sort of steadfast golden anchor point in an ever-greying, ever-darkening world; not necessarily always cheerful or gentle, but good. Always good.

She would have been 33 this year, same as him, James, Peter, and….No. Survival through cowardice and betrayal was nothing to celebrate. No commemoration for him.

In his own, private celebration, he took his free afternoon period of the day to Apparate down to Hogsmeade to replace the robes he had foolishly ripped apart in his surprise Change and then thrown away. The memory filled him with embarrassed regret--too busy caught up in his own self loathing to remember that he didn’t have the money and robes to spare. They could have been fixable, maybe not by a non-magical tailor, but perhaps someone. He was comfortable in his income for now, but nothing in the future was certain, as he very well knew. He knew better than to be so wasteful and so rash. Though, if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t at all sure that he could wear something that had touched the wolf again. _Petty and irrational,_ the voice in him chided. But it didn’t change the shudder of deep disgust that gripped him whenever he remembered touching the fur that had clung to his sheets and the rags of his clothes. The constant knowledge of this beast lived inside him and that could never change, but wearing it on the outside, where he had to touch it, where others had to...it wouldn’t have mattered if every hair had been meticulously picked off. His skin would have crawled every time.

Lily would have approved of his buying more robes--she always thought he kept things long past their due. The thought made him realize a small smile tugged his mouth as he strolled through the snow gilded streets of Hogsmeade. It was too cold to be as pleasant as the walk he had gone on with Professor Sprout before the unfortunate Dementor attack, beginning to numb his feet and ears, but he took his time anyway, peering in through warmly lit windows at people puttering around doing people things. There were children and families tucked away in their homes around tables and fires, pub-goers wrapped around warm drinks and lively conversations, shop owners busily layering pink and red and lace onto every available surface in anticipation of Valentine’s Day. It was comforting to inhabit a place where Lily had been, where they had all been, together and happy. It was almost as if he could walk alongside that happiness like the friends who, by all rights, deserved to be here more. Doing something she would have approved of in the village that warmed him as she had seemed altogether an appropriate venture in her memory.

There was a second hand shop in town, a small, dingy looking little store tucked almost out of sight in between a broomstick repair shop and a cafe, narrow and smelling of dust and old fabric. The ancient little witch who guarded the front desk seemed very eager that she had anyone at all in her shop and shuffled around the dim interior, bringing him various items from nearby overflowing piles, baskets, shelves, and racks. “A nice hat for a nice lady-friend?” She quavered, plucking up a violently purple hat with a peacock plume 2 feet long from a nearby mannequin head.

“Oh,” he looked down at her, hovering expectantly at his side. “I’m not….”

“Or a man-friend! I don’t judge.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you, but I’m honestly just looking for some robes.”

She set it back down as he turned to a rack thick with robes in a mind bogglingly wide variety of color palettes and styles, some of which seemed to have been in fashion several hundred years ago. It looked as if some of them may have been there that long anyway. As he wrestled the overpacked robes apart enough to differentiate one set from another, a somewhat mystifying instrument that had at least 4 different trunks and a section for strings instrument was edged helpfully into his line of sight from under his arm. “For a romantic evening, perhaps?”

He blinked at it. “Er, that’s quite alright, I don’t play...that. But thank you.”

It withdrew and she tottered deeper into the shop as he went back to sorting, only to have a dark red boot with an implausible amount of buckles thrust under his nose moments later. “Look at this lovely boot!”

“...Boot? Not boots?”

“Boot.”

Suppressing a smile, he looked back down at her eager, heavily wrinkled face by his elbow. “Well, there is only the one and I have two feet....”

“We could fix that,” she offered instantly.

He bit back a snort. “I’m quite attached to both, but thank you.”

Remus had picked out a few promising options, all in a respectable, professorial black or brown before the little woman returned, thrusting the strangest little ball of wires, tubes and gears he couldn’t even begin to parse into his hands. “Valentine’s Day is coming up! The perfect gift!”

Helplessly, he looked from her to the contraption and said, “Ma’am...I--”

“Or,” she held up rather moth eaten pink pillow with ruffles and extravagant, looping stitches that read ‘You’re beWITCHing!’ “A charming little thing for the whimsical soul!”

A little desperately, he said, “Ma’am, I don’t have anyone like that, I really am just here for--”

“What!” she burst out, abruptly tossing the pillow onto a completely different pile. “Don’t tell me a handsome young boy like you is alone! Why, you could have your pick of anyone, looking like that!”

Bemused, he looked down at his patched and threadbare robes, scuffed shoes and scarred hands, wondering exactly when the last time she had her vision checked. “Er, that’s very kind of you to say, but I’m not ‘alone’. I’m a Professor at Hogwarts, I live up at the castle with everyone else.”

“They let those teachers marry, don’t they?” she demanded further, clearly outraged on his behalf.

“Well, certainly--”

“A fine thing, to hire a young lad like you with all those old coots where he’ll have no chance at all! A crime! A damn shame! It’s sabotage!”

“I...I mean, _I_ took the job, ma’am, I’m perfectly fine. No one is _stopping_ me from--”

“Working you too hard, then, are they?”

“Er, no, it’s quite reasonable--”

“Imagine!”

Completely bemused and uncertain what to do with this extent of maternal outrage, he looked to the robes in his arms, and then around at the various piles of ancient treasure troves before offering, “...Would it make you feel better if I bought some Valentine’s gifts for the staff in...retaliation?”

“Yes!” she said sharply, obviously still feeling harassed by Hogwarts’ supposed agenda against his love life.

“It won’t be much, I’m trying to save….”

“BAH!” she burst out, making him jump. She had quite the lung capacity for such a tiny person. “Nonsense! I’ll get you suitable things and you will take them, free of charge. No argument!” She shook a bony, wizened finger at him fiercely and stumped away, muttering to herself.

“I’ll just...try these on then, shall I?” he said faintly, to no one as he backed toward the changing cubicles.

He emerged not long after with the final 3, least dusty contenders that didn’t make him look either like a child dressed in his father’s too big robes or a several decades removed from style grandfather. It wasn’t as though he were vain--more that he didn’t feel he had the personality to carry through any bold or questionable fashion choices. That had always been Sirius’...Nevermind. Professional and understated seemed the safest option.

Though, he supposed that Dumbledore had been a Professor longer than Remus had been alive and wore a spectacular array of colors. He knew he didn’t had the confidence to pull of quite that flamboyant a pallette.

The little witch was waiting for him up at the counter with an ominously large basket sitting up beside her, though her torrent of indignance seemed to have dried up, for she smiled and pushed it at him as he approached. “Have a nice day!”

In the middle of pulling out his coin bag, Remus paused, then said, “I haven’t paid you, yet.”

“I said free of charge.”

“Well, yes, but the robes--”

“Nonsense,” she waved him away. “Consider it a first time shopper’s deal.”

“Ma’am, I couldn’t possibly--”

“Oh, you are sweet, aren’t you? Consider it a gift for brightening my day. Sometimes, I get a good feeling about people and something told me that you deserved one today.”

“I haven’t--I really can’t justify--”

“You don’t have to. Just take _this_ ,” she hooked her heels on the top rung of her stool and leaned precariously over, firmly thunking the basket down nearest to him, grabbing his hand and wrapping it deliberately onto the handle. “And have a nice day.”

He stared at her a moment and then down at the basket, its contents mysteriously hidden by a yellowed handkerchief. There was a silence as he contemplated her gnarled hand clasped over his, and then, feeling oddly overcome with a strange need, he said, slowly, “It’s my friend’s birthday today.” It didn’t make sense and he wasn’t quite sure why he said it, but it seemed strangely...relevant to her kindness. _Always good._

She grinned, revealing a surprisingly white smile. “Well, now, that explains it, doesn’t it?”

He gave her a quizzical smile. “Does it?”

“Birthdays have their own sort of magic. You tell them happy birthday from me.”

Smile going rueful, he considered several responses, before he finally said; “I’ll pass on the message.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly...I'm beginning to suspect my proxy's in this story are all the forceful older women who beat Remus about the head with kindness and love....  
> I'm also realizing a lot of his interactions with secondary characters are a great excuse for me to give more screen time to women and their stories from this series (not even mad, tho). Neville will be back in just a few chapters, too!  
> I have the next few chapters planned out, so hopefully they flow a lot easier, so I might actually have something out within the next week?? Or two??? Optimistically???? I'll try to think of it as a holiday present.
> 
> Oh, also, I've been editing a bit, so I'm going to be going back and updating a few chapters with edits--usually just grammar things, rewriting awkward sentences and the like, but there might be a few extra paragraphs of musings here and there. I'll try to mention in the notes which chapters might have some new content, cause there will be some that I will put a couple new scenes into in the future!
> 
> EDIT: Chapter 28 has a very brief new conversation between Sprout and Remus explaining why Remus hadn't given Filch a Christmas present. Cause I felt it was relevant.


	38. Sharing Stolen Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus is surprised by something unexpected on the lake.

Remus somehow departed the shop lighter than he had entered it, despite being now laden with a baffling amount if gifts. After their final goodbyes, in which he introduced himself belatedly and she had waved him off with an enthusiastic, “Benwilda!” which he took to be her name and not some sort of strange farewell, he seemed unable to stop smiling as he made his way back through the silver and gold streets of Hogsmeade. On a whim, he ducked briefly into the raucous warmth of the Three Broomsticks to snag a case of butterbeer with the money he would have used for the robes. Perhaps it was wiser to save it, but a treat now and then in a time of financial stability couldn’t be such a crime, could it? And he could share some with Harry, seeing how the boy hadn’t been allowed down to Hogsmeade this year. Excuse officially located, he wiped his mind free of guilt and tucked his bounty under his arm. He was unwilling to set it on top of the basket, as he didn’t know how fragile the contents were and was actually inclined to leave as a surprise for when he returned to his rooms.

The cold bit at his edges like teeth, and he was glad for Professor Sprout’s Elodie’s mittens, as carrying things in both hands made tucking his freezing fingers into pockets an impossibility. He and his ears were very grateful there was no wind. After a brisk walk to the town’s edge, he tucked his prizes close to his body and Disapparated, appearing with a pop at the gates to Hogwarts. Immediately, the temperature plummeted so fast the pain in his joints bloomed, as he had expected, but kept his quick pace, so as to leave lurking Dementors and their dangers behind. None were in his sight as he passed between the winged boar statues, but they were close enough that he could have sworn he caught a whiff of rotting meat and the thick tang of blood, but he clutched his good mood to him with a death grip and kept walking. Soon, the cold rose again to it’s natural, bitter edge and, though his scars throbbed as if they had been torn into him again only hours ago, all he could smell was snow and pine.

It was not a day one could easily admire the winterscape, lacking the fresh Holiday charm or the sun to make the snow seem to sparkle with clean promise, but he found himself gazing across the grounds anyhow, catching on the lake. An impressive sheet of black, striations of white and pale, pale blue cutting its surface in irregular swipes where ice had cracked and refrozen, mostly windswept clear of snow. Something, however, caught his gaze and made his determined pace falter, slow, and stop. He squinted. There was something red on the lake.

The burn in his thighs gratefully lessened as he changed his course from straight up the hill to crosswise and down to the lakeside, still hefting his shopping load with him. He was still too far to tell, but the size and shape was roughly that of a person, far from shore, laying in a heap on the ice. It was cold and had been long enough that he wasn’t so much worried about the ice breaking as the possible scenarios that could lead to a student-sized person to come to lay on the ice on a day this cold. The closer he drew, the more convinced he was that it _was_ someone and he frowned, setting his basket, bag, and butterbeer down on the frozen slush that was the shore and setting off, cautiously but purposeful, across the ice. As he drew closer, the shape resolved into a small person with long, bright red hair over their face, on their knees, head pressed to the ice.

For the shortest fraction of a second, some secret, child-like part of his heart shot immediately to Lily and ghosts and birthday magic but even as it happened, he knew there was not enough magic in the world to let him see his friends again. And the hair was too bright, too orange to be Lily’s. Cautiously, he called out, “Hello? Are you alright?”

At his greeting, they jerked up in surprise and he realized it was Ginny Weasley, eyes wide. Immediately, her alarm at being interrupted melted into bright pink embarrassment and she hastily scrambled to her feet, brushing snow from her cloak. “Oh, sorry, Professor Lupin, I shouldn’t….”

“No, it’s alright, I’m sorry I surprised you, I was just--” he glanced around, then quirked a bemused smile at her. “A little concerned. I thought something might have been wrong.”

She mumbled, “No. Sorry, I...I know I shouldn’t--” Arms folded across her chest, face growing redder, she hesitantly made as if to leave and he held up his hands in negation.

“No, no, it’s quite alright, you’re not breaking any rules. I’m sorry that I disturbed….” Briefly, he wondered if retreating would set her more at ease, then decided his own curiosity was strong enough. “Whatever it was you were doing. May I ask?”

There was a moment where she finally looked him in the eye and studied his face, and the expression he found there was much graver than he had anticipated. She was definitely sizing him up, deciding if he were trustworthy and he felt suddenly small and hopeful before her scrutiny. _How does one exude trustworthy-ness?_ After only a few moments hesitation, she said, “I was listening to the ice.”

Intrigued and puzzled, he tilted his head and asked, “Can you show me?”

Something like stubbornness lined the edges of her embarrassment and she pointed wordlessly down at the ice under their feet. This most certainly had the feel of a test; he could see it in the steeliness of her gaze-- _are you going to make fun of me or do you respect me enough to risk looking like an idiot in front of me?_ Youngest to 6 brothers, if he remembered correctly, oh yes. A small smile on his lips, he dutifully knelt down, ignoring the usual creak and crack of his knees, and gingerly leaned over and pressed his already mostly numb ear to the ice.

At first, nothing. He raised a mittened hand to cover his free ear, closing his eyes to concentrate. Then, a strange alien twang shot by somewhere to their left and echoed, not in the air, but in the deep water beneath and, in rapid succession, 2 more, one deeper and one higher and short. His eyes shot open in surprise and he looked up at Ginny in delight, who looked a lot less closed off, now that he had actually obliged her. He was absurdly pleased that he was still receiving new secrets of Hogwarts long after he left as a student. “Amazing! And that's the ice?” As he said this, another, strange shot rang out underneath them.

She nodded with a small smile. “When it shifts and cracks.”

“It’s very Star Wars.”

“Star Wars?”

He sat back on his heels and looked up at her--she seemed a little intrigued that she was looking down at a professor sitting on the ground in front of her--and why not? It cost him not at all to put her more at ease. Well...perhaps ice dampened trouser legs and chill-sore knees, but in trade for her fascinating offering of knowledge, the price seemed well worth it.  “Before your time perhaps.” _Or outside your world view._ His mother, his friendship with Lily, and his 12 year stay in the muggle world had always allowed him one foot in each world--he always had to allow for translation errors. “They were Muggle movies, about outer space and--” he put one foot flat and braced his hands on his knee. “Fighting, as I’m sure you--oof--surmised by the title.” Both knees gave a complicated twang, a feeling not unlike the sound the ice gave just a few moments ago.

Wincing, he shot her a sheepish smile. “This, ah, may have been a mistake. I appear to be stuck.”

“Oh.” She reached down, grabbed his elbow, and helped lever him up to his feet with a soft hiss in through his teeth.

“Thank you.” He swiped ineffectually at his damp knees, then straightened. “It reminded me of the sound they used to make the blasters--but nevermind. How do you know about this…discovery?”

“There was a lake by my house growing up--we would skate on it in the winter and, by the springtime melts, the cracks get loud enough that you can hear them without putting your ear to the ice.”

“Well, you’ve taught me something new. I suppose I've just never paid much attention before. Does it remind you of home?”

Her dark eyes became shuttered again and she looked out across the empty landscape of the lake. “Sort of.”

Now, Remus knew pain. Quite familiarly and acutely, in fact, having experienced most types of it by now, and with a fair amount of regularity, and he knew enough that he was looking at it now. Ginny had been present for the mess on the train at the start of the year--though didn’t it feel like years, but then again, only yesterday? Time seemed to move differently here, a delirious dream meshed with a painful memory. The Dementors had seemed to affect her far more than any other person besides Harry and himself.  That paired with what he had seen of her in class, he knew there was certainly more to her than what she showed. And then, there had been what he had heard…. He tilted his head and said, gently, “It’s a bit cold out here, don’t you think?”

She shrugged, small shoulders bobbing almost aggressively. “Don’t wanna be inside.”

“Oh?”

“...It’s hard to explain.”

He considered sitting down, to demonstrate his readiness to listen, his lack of a need to go anywhere, but, considering his predicament just moments before, he decided against it. Instead, he merely put his mittened hands in his pockets and bent down, just a bit, to catch her eye and offer a small, encouraging smile. “Try me.”

Staring into his eyes searchingly again, he watched reluctance and a sort of wary thoughtfulness war on her face. “None of it...happened out here. Not here.”

He waited, and she took a deep, shuddering breath. “... You know about what happened last year?”

Of course he knew--generally, in bits. He very much doubted there was anyone on the Wizarding World that hadn't heard of a giant monster stalking school children. As removed as he had been, the petrifications had been in the Prophet and he had worriedly scanned every day he could get his hands on a copy for news of Harry. It had not escaped staff room conversation either, though it seemed to be a bit of a sore spot most avoided talking about. Remus could understand it; helplessness, shame, an inability to protect those under their protection.

It was clear that Ginny Weasley had been involved in some way, but the paper had made no mention of it and he had never felt comfortable enough to probe further when conversations ran dry. He had made sure to try and watch her closely. And Remus had never seen her so openly dour before. In truth, he had only seen her in class and in passing, but the hidden pain she carried had always been shown in the sharpness of her attention to defense and a guarded, far-away look that passed over her face when the students were left to work on essays in class. He doubted that he would have recognized such signs if he had not been so watchful himself, and, otherwise, she seemed to be a normal, if slightly more mature, girl her age. It concerned him that she was out here, all alone, in obvious distress.

“Why don’t you tell me, if you'd like. I put no stock in gossip.”

Some of the tightness around her eyes eased, and she seemed slightly reassured that he didn’t just assume he knew the whole story. Something about that told him there were many who had. “Last year...I found a book. A diary. And I didn't know where it had come from, I just found it in my school books, but I figured there was no harm in using it anyway. And...it started writing back. I _know_ it was stupid, I _know_ it was dangerous. But he didn’t ask me to _do_ anything. He said his name was Tom.”

A chill ran down Remus’ spine at this, but he said nothing, keeping his eyes soft, his expression open.

“We just...talked. He wanted to know about my life, how Hogwarts was, what I was doing. Nothing weird. Just...friend stuff. And I had a couple friends in the castle, but no one I knew really well. All my brothers were busy doing their own thing,” she made a face at some memory she chose not to include, wrinkling up her nose. “I just got in the way. It was nice to have someone who actually cared about what I was doing. I know mom and dad did, but...they’ve done this 6 times, sending kids off to school. If I wasn’t burning down my dorm, nothing I did was really all that spectacular--Fred and George sort of have that numbing effect on people,” she added, rolling her eyes, but a small smile quirked her lip. “It was just... _nice._ ”

She fell silent and he thought about prompting her with a question, but he really didn’t think this was about informing him anymore. Her gaze had dropped somewhere to the side of him, her expression caught between a jaw-jutting surliness and the edge of some strong emotion.The near-scowl reminded him, startlingly, of her Uncle Gideon, just something in the tilt of her brows raised the ghost of the long unprompted memory. “Even when I was doing it, I knew it was stupid, but nothing _happened._ Except...I woke up in the Common Room when I know I fell asleep in my bed. I would sort of...wake up in different places--not from sleeping, but all of a sudden, I wasn’t where I remembered, I was in some other part of the castle or the grounds. I was so tired, even though I was sleeping like normal. I would find...feathers...in my bed. On my clothes. It was just…. I would try to ask people if this is a thing that the castle did to you and they looked at me like I was crazy. Tom told me that it was nothing, that it was normal, that people got caught up in their thoughts when they were walking all the time but I _knew_ that wasn’t what was happening.”

The ragged edge of her breath caught and she swallowed and took a deep breath, eyes bright, but expression angry. “My friends would get mad at me for things that I didn’t remember saying. They would just stop talking to me and I was so confused, I didn’t know _why_ and no one would _tell_ me. And when I made them, and they told me what I had said, _I_ got mad, because I would never do those things. I just stopped talking to everyone. I felt like there wasn’t anyone I could trust, not even myself. The only person who didn’t treat me like I was an awful person or annoying or weird or just ignore me was Tom. I didn’t want to talk to my brothers--they would just make fun of me. Except Percy. _He_ would try to make me talk to Dumbledore or someone. I knew that if I talked to….” She stopped and gave him a look that was almost irritation, as if he had said something to criticize her. “I know this was dumb, okay? I know it, now.”

Raising his brows and his hands, palm out in surrender, he said, “Alright.”

Ginny huffed out a puff of steam and looked down at the ice next to him, more, it seemed, in concentration than shame as she said, plainly, “I knew if I talked to a grown up, they would ask me what I was doing in my free time, who I was talking to, they would try to find out what was doing this. I thought it couldn’t possibly have been Tom, because he was trying to calm me down, he wasn’t even talking about the weird things that were happening. But I knew they would take him away just because they didn’t understand him, they would say he was bad. My dad always says ‘never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain.’ I guess a part of me was suspicious that he had something to do with it, even then, but I didn’t want to believe it, because I ignored it. Then...I couldn’t remember where I was when Mrs. Norris was attacked. Everyone was talking about it but...I wasn’t there and I couldn’t remember where I had been. I found bits of paint on my hands and shoes….Percy kept after me ‘cause he said I looked sick...I was too scared to tell anyone. I thought they’d put me away. And when people kept getting attacked...I lost more and more time….”

Her gaze drifted up toward the castle with it’s warmly lit windows. “I knew something was wrong. I knew, somehow, it was me. But it wasn’t. It had something to do with that book. He wasn’t who I thought he was. It was a year ago, around this time--I don’t know when exactly, there were so many holes….I chucked it. Him. I threw the diary into the toilet. When I started thinking straight, I realized that if it _was_ him doing this, he could tell someone what I did….When I went back, it was gone….I tried to find it. When I couldn’t...I almost...I was going to….”

At this, his heart squeezed. _To feel so trapped…._

Suddenly, she seemed to remember she was talking to an adult as she glanced at him in alarm and stopped herself. “Well. You probably know the rest. It was stupid. _I_ was stupid.”

He was silent a moment, absorbing and fitting this new information with what he knew of her, knew of the story, and what he knew of the adults who had handled this situation. Throughout her story, he had very carefully kept himself still, free of judgment and reaction, despite how sick the whole thing had made him. Alone and scared. Overwhelmed and desperate. How very familiar it had sounded. _Oh, child…_.”I don’t think it was stupid at all,” he said, lowly.

Ginny frowned, clearly alert for a lie. “Why?”

“I don’t think trusting someone who is kind to you is stupid. I don’t think that wanting a friend is stupid.”

She looked back down at the ice between them. “Dumbledore told me that I shouldn’t feel bad because You-Know-Who had fooled older people, too.”

A small smile crossed his face. “He is a wise man.”

“Everyone else I had to explain it to told me how dangerous it was. How stupid it was.”

He suppressed a grimace at that. “Is that where you got that from,” he muttered, half to himself.

She shot him an exasperated look that had been so very clearly lifted from her mother--whom Remus had met only a few times, years ago--that he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling wider. “I think it was stupid because it _was_. I even knew it then. I just didn’t think it was stupid enough to stop. I--whoa.”

Remus started in alarm at her sudden switch in tone, but followed her gaze, drawn to their feet and let out a surprised, “Ha!”

A single eye the size of a dinner plate slowly drifted beneath their feet, distorted through thick ice peppered with silvery caught bubbles. The dark silver of the huge gelatinous body was barely visible in the murk, but the bright disc stared up at them curiously, clearly drawn by their voices as it deliberately turned and came by for another pass. Then, when they did nothing more interesting than watch it slide by in silence, it continued, then slowly, gradually sank down, long pale tentacles fluttering fluidly behind it into the depths. Unconsciously, it seemed, Ginny knelt down to try to see it longer, staring down into the unfathomable darkness beneath their feet. “Wow,” she breathed, the mist of her breath rising.

Remus glanced at her and said in response to her apparent fascination, “Someone tried to ride in, in my day. Ah, I would not recommend it.”

At this, she looked up and, though her face was still pale, she grinned. “Was it you?”

He grinned back, glad to have lightened her mood even just a bit. “Perhaps.”

Looking back down into the blue-green-black gloom, marbled by the white ribbons of cracks, the smile wilted on her face slowly, but she didn’t look quite so desolate, wrapped in the memory any more. The light was slowly growing bluer, dimmer behind the clouds, swallowing the nuances of bubbles and shadows. She sighed out a cloud of breath and chaffed her hands together. “I guess it just boils down to...my best friend was a book that took over my mind, I let out a monster that almost killed people and I nearly died. It’s not really something people can relate to.”

“I can understand how that could be alienating.”

“It’s just...a year ago, my life was falling apart. There were days where I was so alone, _I_ wasn’t even with me, you know? Missing. I go through every single day, before I go to sleep, step by step, I try to remember where I was and what I did and if I can’t remember I can’t _breathe_ . No one knows how to treat me, what to say. People want to know what happened and how it was and but I realized they weren’t the people who cared how I was doing, they just wanted to know the horror story, so I tell people I won’t talk about it. And I haven’t. I have friends,” she said, as if conceding some unspoken point. “But it’s not the same. They all avoid it or they treat me like I’m going to go crazy any second or say things like ‘you’re so strong, you’re so brave.’ But what if I’m not? What if I’m just...broken. No one knows the whole story, no one knows _everything_ but me. I’m not brave. I’m not a survivor. I didn’t fight--I got _rescued_. I just made things worse. And no one seems to get that,” her voice petered down to a murmur. “No one knows what it’s like to feel...evil.”

Ginny wasn’t looking at him, still knelt down peering into the water, which he felt was the only reason he was able to look out across the grounds over her head and say, very slowly. “I once knew someone who was...possessed by something that made him do things. Terrible things. Things that he hated and...regretted.” His fists were tight in his pockets, his gut twisted. _Dangerous. This is dangerous._

_But she’s so alone._

The next breath he pulled in carefully did not shake, air sharp and wintery clean in his nose. “It’s not the same. But I know that...whenever someone would tell him it wasn’t his fault...it never felt true. He said that no one else knew how it felt. What it was like to have something so evil and destructive inside him.” From the corner of his eye, he watched the fire of her hair fade as her round, white face turned up at him. His heart pounded as if he had run across the lake, mouth suddenly very dry.

“Was it you?” She echoed her question from earlier; quieter, graver.

 _Danger. What are you_ **_doing_ ** _?_

Despite the quiet flare of panic that ignited within him, he schooled his face into level blandness and looked down at her. “...No.”

He hated lying to her. Hadn’t had to do it outright, in so many words instead of by omission, in a while and the slight disappointment that shadowed her face made him sick. But he couldn’t just leave her with nothing. All she had gotten, in her eyes, was criticism, avoidance, and empty consolation. He couldn’t just feed her useless platitudes of ‘it wasn’t you’ or ‘you never asked for this.’ It didn’t matter. She was allowed to not be strong. He wanted her to know that she was seen in her brokenness, with no reassurances to gloss over the discomfort; to know that she shared stolen time with someone else in this world.

_Maybe one day…._

Ginny looked as if she was thinking. “When he said that...what did you say?”

For some reason, the question surprised him and he opened his mouth to answer before he fully processed what she said. What had _he_ been told? By his parents? _You’re not evil, love, you could never be._ James? _It’s the wolf, Remus, it’s not you._ Sirius? _That’s just stupid, you couldn’t hurt anyone like this; it’s not like you feel that all the time._ Lily, so near today? _Wolves have to eat too, Remus, I don’t hate you for that._ Peter? _Well, that’s okay, everyone has something, right?_

That doesn’t help _her._ What did he want _her_ to know? Deliberately, he relaxed his hands, his shoulders.

He managed a small smile as he answered, quietly. “I said, ‘that sounds very scary. If you ever need to talk about it, I can’t promise I’ll understand, but I will always listen.’ And I’ll offer the same to you.”

Slowly, she nodded, absorbing this information. “...Thank you, Professor Lupin.” Then, she gave a sheepish smile. “I probably talked too much. Sorry. And sorry I scared you.”

Remus flipped a negating hand, and shook his head. “Never apologize for needing to talk.” His heart rate was slowly coming back down-- _safe, you’re fine, it’s fine._ “Madame Pomfrey is also an excellent resource, as is Professor Dumbledore. You can come to me any time, Ginny, with whatever you need.”

“I’ll remember.”

He gave her one last smile and said, “Well...I’m freezing. You don’t have to come back right now, but do remember that you must be in before dark.”

They both glanced at the slowly gathering gloom around them, still brightened appreciably by the snow across the vast lawn, silvering the tops of branches in the forest. “I know, I will.”

“Have a good evening, Ginny.”

She nodded, “G’night, Professor.”

As he made his careful way across the ice back to his forgotten Hogsmeade spoils, he blew out a gusty breath, releasing the last of the tension his half truth had gathered in him and rubbed his face with his mittens. He knew of _someone_ who would have been happy at his opening up. Part of him still couldn’t believe he had done it. “Somehow,” he muttered with a grimace at the memory of Lily. “Part of me thinks all of this is somehow your fault.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just gonna throw this up here unedited because whoo boy this is a big one! I could write dialogue for days.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a fic of any great length and it is largely unedited--I'm trying to keep writing and not get bogged down. I hope you enjoy!


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